


Once More With Feeling

by The_She_Devil



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_She_Devil/pseuds/The_She_Devil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events on Alcatraz, Logan leaves the mansion to investigate a mutant Kitty picks up on Cerebro located eerily close to Alkali Lake. Once there, he finds a man he thought was long ago dead with a different name and no indication he has ever known Logan or the X-Men. Is this man really Scott Summers, or is Logan desperately reaching for the ghosts of his past?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I know several authors have done this, but now it’s my turn to fix it.
> 
> So, I started this a long time ago, along with the next chapter of Time Will Tell, and then my family suffered a terrible, unexpected loss and I just didn’t have the inspiration to write. I decided to tackle this first, since it’s pretty straightforward. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Nothing was familiar anymore. The unchanging rooms of the mansion were all wrong, appearing the same but somehow feeling different, as if someone had come in and rearranged all the furniture. He’d walk the halls and miss the flash of red hair glittering in the low evening sun; the gentle, lilting accent floating in from the rec room; and the quiet whir of an electronic wheelchair traversing the floors. He even missed the low timbre of a smooth, cool voice reminding him of his shortcomings and challenging every step he took.

Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but all these months later the air was still heavy with grief, anxiety, loneliness; it stank of it, thick and pungent and invading Logan’s nostrils, suffocating him, making him sick, making him sweat. It stuck to his skin and lingered in his hair. Now, like every night, he stood in the shower, obsessively scrubbing his skin pink and raw with rough strokes, clawing at his delicate flesh with blunt fingernails when he couldn’t get deep enough. But there was no water hot enough, no soap strong enough, no shower long enough to wash the scent away, to flush it down the drain along with the blood on his hands that he could still feel.

He slammed his palm into the shower knob, cutting off the water, just standing there for a moment in the humidity with his forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders tense. After a moment, he sighed and pushed away from the wall, stepping out of the tub before grabbing his towel off the rack to dry off. He opened the door to the bathroom and exited in a puff of steam, heedlessly dropping his damp towel to the floor and pulling on a pair of old sweatpants.

Wearily, he sat down on his bed, lightly tracing his finger over the faded ‘X’ on the top corner of the sweats as he absently stared at the floor and wondered not for the first time what the hell all this was for. The respite his small and spartan bedroom had once offered had long since abated. Now it only served to remind him how alone he truly was. Sure, upon his arrival, he’d quickly abandoned the idea that Jean would ever warm his bed, but at least her presence down the hall had meant that even if there was a .001% chance for them, there had still been a chance. Now?

Now there were two empty beds in the mansion and three graves outside, two of those also empty.

The airy scent of a bouquet of wildflowers creeped in from under his door, earthy and grounded, like flower petals aged between the pages of an old book, then gathered in a fragile handful and released into the wind. She was hovering in the hallway just outside his bedroom, right at his door, but he still waited until she knocked softly before he stood and crossed the room. He opened the door to reveal the Storm Queen, her flawless, beautiful face a stark contrast to the age reflected in her bright brown eyes.

“Hello, Logan,” she murmured quietly, conscious of the late hour. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” he responded, and stepped aside to allow her passage. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, fiddling with the gold bangles adorning her wrist. He indicated the chair by the small table. “Sit down.”

She perched on the edge of the chair but said nothing. He could sense her hesitation, but he wasn’t really in the mood to humor her. It was late and he was tired, and he had some kind of meeting to go to in the morning with some kid straight out of college that he was supposed to interview for a teaching position. Whoever he was, as long as he was willing to take over the insane math classes Slim used to teach that Logan had somehow gotten stuck with, he was just fine in Logan’s book.

“What’s this all about?” he asked gruffly, getting straight to the point.

’Ro sighed. “Kitty is having some...difficulties with Cerebro.”

The kid had been the one to suggest she could do it -- modify Cerebro so that non-telepaths could use it. The machine had proved to be invaluable in the past, finding lost mutants, locating those in need of a helping hand, bringing them to this safe haven and offering them a better life. Offering the school gifted students that may one day become teachers, X-Men, or advocates for mutant equality. At the least, it created lasting, lifelong relationships. Without Charles or Jean, however, the thing was just a vastly oversized paperweight.

Kitty had seemed so determined when she’d first brought it up, brandishing her schematics and formulas on her tablet, explaining complicated plans in an unknown technological language that had left both Logan and Storm staring blankly at the young girl. They didn’t see the harm at first, but after countless hours spent downstairs alone, after listening to sharp curses uttered under her breath and picking up the scent of frustrated tears drifting down the hall, both Logan and ’Ro had often discussed whether or not to let her continue. But everyone had their own healing to do, and perhaps this was Kitty’s.

The girl’s face had been smeared with thick black grease, hair frizzy and eyes tired when she’d run upstairs and smiled for the first time in weeks in a proud, geeky sort of way, announcing breathlessly, “I found someone.”

They’d found four mutants since then, all of them children, and brought three of them successfully to the school, but the process was slow and unreliable without a strong telepath to guide the machine. It was better than nothing, however, and perhaps with time they would be able to utilize it more effectively. Difficulties were to be expected, but the anxiety he could smell emanating from Storm, sharp and strong like the tang of the salt ocean air, left Logan little room to believe this was as simple as needing to tighten a few nuts and bolts.

“What kind of difficulties?” he asked, ducking his head to catch her eyes, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“She found someone,” she stated ominously.

“I take it not the usual, run-of-the-mill mutant,” he said more than asked. She shook her head. “So what is it?”

“Kitty says he lights up Cerebro like fireworks on the Fourth of July.” Finally, she met his eyes, concern clear and strong. “I don’t think you should go after him.”

He held his hands out pleadingly. “What was the point of tinkering with the damn if we aren’t going to use it?”

“We have been using it,” ’Ro countered firmly. “Perhaps not to the capacity Charles was able, but we’ve successfully found four children. But this is different, Logan. Cerebro’s picked him up before, but Kitty can’t keep ignoring him. She said…” The young woman hesitated, her mouth open but she couldn’t seem to find the words. Finally, she shrugged helplessly. “She said Cerebro is...drawn to him. To the point where it won’t seek out any other mutants without giving her quite a bit of trouble.”

“Drawn to him?” the old mutant repeated dubiously, frowning.

“Yes,” she replied. “She doesn’t know what it means.”

“Sounds like it means we need to see what he’s all about,” Logan stated. “There’s got to be a reason Cerebro keeps pinpointing him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” ’Ro said, her voice tight. “Logan, we can’t go after him. There is an unforeseen amount of danger involved. What if he is violent? What if his intentions are malevolent? We can’t afford another Alcatraz. We can’t afford to lose anyone else. I can’t -- ”

She paused suddenly, her voice catching as she fought to maintain control. Logan sighed, his expression softening with compassion. “Listen, Storm, I get it, okay? I get it. And I agree with you, we can’t afford another Alcatraz. But chances are this is just another scared kid like all the others we’ve picked up.”

Her lips were a thin tight line, but she nodded, blinking a few times to clear the dampness in her eyes.

“I hope you’re right,” ’Ro said, and he hoped so too. “Maybe it will be an adult this time. Someone that can help us.”

Logan nodded. At this point, any adult willing to help out at the school would be welcome. Between the two of them, they couldn’t keep this school running. Beast helped out as much as he could, but the furball was stuck in Washington during the week doing his whole ambassador thing. Bobby did the best he could, but now that he’d graduated high school, it just wasn’t right to ask him to stay here when he had his entire future on the horizon. And Marie…

Marie was gone, traveling through North America again, this time with no fear of getting anyone killed except herself. As much as Logan had tried to talk her out of it, she’d left anyway, hugging him hard before she’d walked out the door, her bare cheek pressed against his. He had still involuntarily flinched at the contact, remembering all the other times it had hurt him, but she’d only laughed at his embarrassment and instead gracefully kissed him on the forehead in forgiveness. For that and whatever else, he could only guess. At least she’d kept in touch as promised, sending him postcards from various towns and cities across America, the adventure much different now that she was harmless and carefree.

“I’ll pack a bag and we’ll debrief in the morning,” he told Storm presently, standing as she did and walking her to the door.

She turned back and smiled, slow and wry, pointing one long, elegant finger at him. “Not before your interview.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded, with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

“Good morning, Logan,” Storm greeted as he entered the War Room, a meeting space located floors below ground, to find her and Kitty waiting for him. The space was quite large for just the three of them, but there were far more chairs in the conference room than were needed these days. He forced himself not to look at the chair Jean used to inhabit, the wooden arm covered in pen marks from her habit of absently doodling on it during meetings. Of course, Cyclops’ chair had been right next to hers, the soft leather well worn and still faintly carrying his scent. And then there was the empty spot at the end of the table, devoid of a chair, with two perfect voids in the carpet from years of the wheels of a chair sliding in and out of the space.

“Morning,” he responded shortly, sinking down into a chair. The worry he could smell in the air was apparent in the expressions of the two women in front of him. “So what have we got?”

The adults turned to Kitty, who glanced anxiously between the two of them before leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table. She was clutching what appeared to be a folded up map in her hands, but didn’t refer to it. “Okay, so without a telepath -- an advanced telepath -- the only way I’m able to pick up mutants on Cerebro is when they first manifest. The sudden burst of their power attracts the machine, but even then it’s only for a short while. Once their powers level out, they disappear from Cerebro’s radar completely, which is why it’s been so hard to find anyone in the first place, let alone go looking for them after their burst dies down.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “So what about this kid that keeps popping up on Cerebro?”

“He’s not a kid,” Kitty stated adamantly, eyebrows raised as she shook her head. “At least, not as far as I can tell. His signature is too advanced. If he is a ‘he’ at all.”

“So why does Cerebro locate him in the first place? If he’s an adult.”

“His energy levels are higher than anyone I’ve ever seen on Cerebro,” the teenager responded, her eyes wide with apprehension, edged with a fear Logan didn’t need to smell to know was there. “And they keep getting stronger. It’s almost as if he’s on the verge of manifesting.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” ’Ro interjected, her brow knotted in confusion. “If he is an adult, as you said.”

“Well, look at Beast,” Logan pointed out. “He didn’t turn blue until just a year ago.”

“That is a good point,” ’Ro acknowledged. “Perhaps this mutant hasn’t reached his full potential as well.”

Kitty held out her hands helplessly, her mouth open but she couldn’t seem to find the words. “I can’t say this is the same thing. I have no idea what you’re going to run into. I just know that every time I cast Cerebro’s net, so to speak, it keeps bringing back this mutant. To the point where it won’t even search for anyone else; this one is so powerful Cerebro is just drawn to him like a moth to a flame.” The girl hesitated, rolling her eyes before continuing. “I don’t know what this means, but...I think Cerebro _wants_ us to find him.”

“What?” Logan blurted, frowning. “It’s just a machine.”

“I know,” she replied, just as dubious. “But...sometimes I’m in there, and I just get this...feeling.”

“What kind of feeling?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Like I’m in there alone, and suddenly I’m not,” she said, her eyes distant, focused on a memory. “And it’s warm, and comforting...familiar. And it guides me. Like my dad teaching me how to ride a bike, hands on my hands, showing me how to do it, but always pointing me in the same direction before letting go.”

Logan met Storm’s eyes from across the table, both mutants confused yet curious, before he glanced back to Kitty just in time to see her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“It sounds crazy,” the girl said, “but there it is.”

“Sounds like we don’t have much of a choice,” Logan stated, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not if we want to use Cerebro to find more mutants,” Kitty agreed. She suddenly appeared nervous, shifting in her seat uneasily. “There is something else.”

“What is it?” ’Ro asked, just as Logan wondered what could make the teenager more nervous than a supposed ghost in the basement.

Timidly, she unfolded the map on the table in front of her and slid it towards the two adults in the room. She pointed to a circled section located inside of Alberta, Canada, a stretch of highway running through one small blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town called Fox City. Within the same province as Alkali Lake. Logan’s heart hammered in his chest, hairs on the back of his neck rising as he zeroed in on the town located way too close to that damned lake -- to the place where the Wolverine had been born -- for comfort.

He tore his eyes away from the map to catch Kitty’s gaze. “That’s where he is?” The girl nodded. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“Perhaps that government facility was not completely destroyed,” Storm suggested. “Maybe that is why this mutant is different. Another experiment?”

“If that’s the case, he might need more help than we think,” Logan said, staring distantly at the map. It wasn’t like he couldn’t relate.

“His situation may not be similar to yours, Logan,” ’Ro advised gently. “His intentions may not be so admirable.”

“Won’t know until we find out.”

Both Logan and Kitty looked their field leader expectantly, the weather goddess’ eyes glancing back and forth between the two of them until she begrudgingly said, “All right. We shall do some investigating. Logan,” she continued, her voice taking on an almost warning tone. “You are to find this mutant and observe _only_. Once you report back to me, then we will decide on a plan. Is that understood?”

“You know me,” he replied wryly. “Discreet’s what I do best.”

The Storm Queen cast a knowing glance his way as she stood up, slipping her chair back under the table neatly. “I will prepare the jet for takeoff.”

“I’ll pack a bag,” Logan stated, turning to leave.

“Oh, Logan?” ’Ro called, giving him pause. “How was the interview?”

“Fine,” he responded curtly. “I hired him.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “You do not suppose we should discuss his qualifications in more detail first?”

“I told you, it went fine,” he quickly assured her, his eyes focused resolutely forward as he made a hasty exit. If she wanted the details, they went something like this:

Logan sat at his desk in his office (words he never in his life thought he’d ever say), eyeballing the guy across from him that looked _way_ too young to be out of high school, let alone college. The kid shifted in his chair uncomfortably, squirming under Logan’s heavy stare. He asked, “You do math?”

“Do...math?” the kid inquired, nonplussed.

“Yeah. Math. You know, algebra and geometry, stuff like that. Calculus, too. You know all that stuff?”

“Well...sure. Of course. I’m also well versed in trigonometry, probability and sta -- ”

“Yeah, whatever,” he interrupted dismissively, then quickly added at the guy’s startled expression: “I mean, that’s great. You like kids?”

“Yes.”

“You got a problem with mutants?”

“No.”

“Great. You’re hired.”

* * *

Logan arrived in the evening, riding in on one of Scott’s old Harley Davidson’s after Storm dropped him off in a deserted field. Old snow bordered the highway, as hard as ice and stained black from exhaust fumes. Canada was a lot colder than he remembered. The chill of the night air slipped beneath his skin and settled into his adamantium-laced bones as he traversed the road into his destination.

Fox City should probably have been named Fox Town, or even Fox Village for how small the damn place was. Located on a long stretch of highway and surrounded by a dense forest, it boasted a population of less than five thousand and seemed to mostly serve as a place for truckers to stop in for a quick bite to eat and a place to rest, apparent by the vast amount of motel parking lots filled with big rigs.

He found a room easily enough, the teenager at the check-in counter giving him the side eye as she handed him the key. He ignored her, used to dealing with the likes of her after months at the school, thanking her politely before heading to his room. He chucked his bag into the corner, sitting down on the bed briefly and quickly sending a text message to Storm that he was settling in.

Once that was done, he placed his phone on the nightstand and stood up, letting out a deep breath before stepping outside and locking up, ready to start hunting. Stuffing his hands into his leather jacket, he headed towards the downtown area, which was really just a line of storefronts and parking spaces, the lot dusted with fresh snow.

He stopped in a few stores -- the local pharmacy for some aspirin, a grocery store for a bag of jerky -- surveying the stock boys and cashiers, picking up a few conversations here and there about a new teacher at the school, some guy named Mike that had gotten thrown in jail once again for drunken disorderly, and the apparent tragedy of another man Tom losing his wife Nancy at such a young age to cancer. Maybe the new teacher was someone to look into, but other than that, he didn’t hear any worthwhile concerns, pick up any scents that were out of the ordinary, or see any strange or distinguishing features that would alert him to a mutant. Just a bunch of average-smelling, average-looking Canadians.

Eventually the smell of bacon and eggs and burgers and coffee met his nose, drifting in on the biting cold wind, leading him towards a brightly lit diner called Frank’s. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he supposed a centralized diner might be a good place to grab some food and some small town gossip.

A bell jingled above him cheerily as he pushed the door open, and he stood for a moment surveying the restaurant before settling down at a counter stool. There were a few men sitting by themselves having dinner and coffee, their trailers probably parked in one of the lots in town, so at least Logan wouldn’t stand out dining alone. As he ate his burger and fries, he realized this was not, however, the goldmine of information that he’d been looking for; the only waitress, a small blond in her twenties, flirted relentlessly with the cook at the window, giggling and twirling her hair around her finger in a way she probably thought was adorable.

She turned around briefly to refill his coffee, cheerily asking him how everything was.

“Great,” he responded, as he polished off his fries. “Is it always so damn quiet around here?”

She grinned with amusement. “It’s Thursday. Wait ‘til tomorrow, when all the boys come home for the weekend. Local truckers, military men, you know. It’ll pick up then. You staying for a while?”

“A few days,” he stated, glancing around the diner once more. Besides the few men, the only other patrons were a couple of teenagers giggling in the corner. He turned back to the waitress. “Yeah, what’s your idea of ‘picking up’? I somehow doubt it ever gets real rowdy around here.”

“Not unless you count Mike Pearson getting tossed in jail for fighting at the bar again,” she replied wryly. “The place is usually pretty quiet.”

He grunted in agreement. “Where’s this bar you’re talking about?”

“Across the street there.” She pointed behind him. “They’re open ‘til midnight tonight, two on Friday and Saturday. If you head in, tell Jack that Cindy sent you, will ya?”

She was smiling at Logan as she said it, but her eyes had this dreamy quality that let him know she wasn’t seeing him at all, instead imagining this Jack fellow in all this teenaged heartthrob glory. He laughed quietly as he promised to send her regards, paid, and thanked her, grateful to end his frustrating, fruitless day over a few drinks in a quiet bar, even if it was with some ridiculously good looking muscled jock.

He rushed across the street through the cold, pulling open the door and stomping the snow and dirt off his boots once inside. It was dimly lit, a thick haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, the place reeking of booze and sweat and despair, shitty speakers pumping out classic rock. Just his kind of bar.

A bored-looking woman sat by herself at the end of the bar, wearing a black tee shirt and an apron -- one of the waitresses, no doubt. Behind the bar stood a tall man he assumed to be the bartender, possibly Jack, with dark hair and broad shoulders, also wearing a black tee shirt, facing her and away from Logan.

Sliding onto a stool, Logan glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the group of old men sitting at one of the booths in the back, bleary-eyed as they stared into their beers. There were a few college-aged kids laughing by the dartboard, one of the boys gesticulating wildly as he told a story to the others.

“I’m telling you!” he was saying to his skeptical looking friends. “He had all these dead animals just hanging outside in the cold, all skinned and shit. We looked in the windows and there he was. He was huge! Seven feet tall -- at least!”

“What was he doing?”

“I don’t know, whittling or some shit.”

“Whittling,” one of the girls said more than asked, her voice dripping with disdain like Jubilee after she’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed. “He’s supposed to be some crazy murderer and he’s up in there whittling? What was he making? A flute to play in the forest with all other mythical creatures?”

The other kids burst into laughter, but the boy persisted. “I’m telling you, he was in there with a knife and a piece of wood doing whatever it was he was doing, and he’s real! You can ask Steve, he was there with me.”

“I don’t know. How did you even find his cabin?” another boy asked. “The forest is huge.”

“Hey, how’s it going?” a smooth baritone greeted him from behind the bar.

“Fine,” he responded gruffly. He barely glanced the guy’s way, still focused on the rowdy kids at the dartboard and that boy’s tall tale of a murderer living in the woods, wondering if perhaps he warranted some looking into.

“Great,” the bartender said, after a brief pause. “What can I get for you?”

“Just get me a -- ” He turned towards the bartender then, really noticing him for the first time. If it weren’t for the eyes -- bright blue, regarding him with almost an amused curiosity -- he probably would have recognized him right away, but it took him a moment to take in the rest of his features. High cheekbones, full lips, chiseled jaw, perfectly tousled hair. Smiling in a way that Scott Summers had never smiled at the Wolverine.

Logan nearly fell out of his chair. _This_ was the mutant Cerebro wanted them to find? It couldn’t be. Scott was dead. Atomized. Jean had all but admitted that she had killed him; at least, when faced with the accusation, from him and from Xavier, she hadn’t denied it. Had Logan been wrong? Had she been keeping her loverboy a secret? Had she been trying to protect him, knowing something that they hadn’t?

But how did he end up _here_? And what had happened to his eyes?

The kid’s brow knotted, mouth tipping down into a frown as worry clouded his features, peering down at Logan without an ounce of recognition. “Hey, you okay, buddy?”

Logan only just managed to find his voice, his throat tight and dry. “Yeah. Yeah, fine, just...long day.”

“Mmm. Trucker?” the man assumed, continuing without waiting for an answer. “So, you wanted a drink?”

“Yeah, just, uh, get me a, uh…” he began, leaning a little bit closer to get a better whiff. How had Logan not recognized his scent on the way in? Personal scents were like fingerprints, no two people having the same smell, and Logan only had to smell someone once before instinctually committing it to memory, like a name to a face. The kid leaned in closer as well, turning his head and aiming his ear at Logan, thinking older man was going to tell him something quietly. Instead, Logan inhaled through his nose deeply.

He’d never smelled anything like it. Clean and crisp like the fresh, biting snow after a storm -- untainted, _new_. Closing his eyes and concentrating hard, Logan tried his damndest to pick up any familiarity in the scent of the man before him, but it just wasn’t there. This guy was a complete stranger.

The kid backed away, eyeing Logan in the same way one might regard a wild animal that had wandered in. Not exactly scared, but definitely ready for it to make a sudden movement.

Finally, Logan finished, “Beer. Please.”

Not Scott blinked at him. “Any particular one you’d like?”

“Just cheap.”

“My kind of date,” the bartender quipped wryly, then reached into a refrigerator and popped the bottle cap with the deftness of experience, laying out a cocktail napkin in front of Logan and placing the beer on top. Was Logan mistaken? Was this man just another pretty boy in a small town somewhere? It just...it couldn’t be. The resemblance was uncanny. Maybe Logan could get him to put on a pair of sunglasses.

“You sure you’re okay?” the other man asked, still appearing quite concerned.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Like I said, just...had a long day. Getting too old for this shit.”

“You must be aging well, old man.” The guy cracked a grin, a killer combo with those eyes, and, okay, maybe Logan could understand why all the girls had had such a crush on the uptight prick at school, even if his personality had been practically nonexistent.

“Hey, Jack,” the girl at the end of the bar called, her apron in a heap on the counter. The young man turned to her. “You mind if I get out of here? It’s slow as shit and my mom’s watching the baby.”

“Yeah, sure, go on,” Jack replied dismissively. She pulled some cash out of her pocket and counted out a few bills, coming up behind the bar and holding them out to him. His tip for the night, for making the drinks for her customers. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“Come on, Jackie,” she pouted, pushing the cash towards him. “Just take it.”

He wrapped a hand around her wrist, pressing it towards her chest, his other hand landing casually on her hip as he directed her towards the door. He murmured softly in her ear, so low only Logan could pick it up with his heightened hearing, “I don’t need it. Keep it for the baby, all right?”

Logan wondered if the baby was Jack’s. If the guy really was Scott, the young man wouldn’t have had enough time to make one; he’d only been gone for six months. Perhaps Logan really was wishfully thinking, and this Jack character was just a doppelganger of the field leader of the X-Men.

“All right,” she conceded, smiling up at him. She touched the side of his face and kissed his cheek. He grinned disarmingly at her, tapping her playfully on the butt once as she headed away. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” he called, heading back to his spot behind the bar. He picked up a rag and began polishing some glasses, occasionally raising his gaze to observe the kids at the dartboard and the old men in the corner, and once or twice at the lone Canadian-cum-New Yorker sitting alone.

Logan cleared his throat, staring at his bottle of beer. “Cindy sends her regards.”

The young man glanced his way, just one corner of his lips quirking upwards in a smile. He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“So, you lived here long?”

“As long as I can remember,” he replied coolly. “What about you? Where you from?”

“Originally from Canada,” Logan offered. “Now I live in New York.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asked, his interest piqued. He placed the clean glass in a rack, then sauntered a little closer to Logan, leaning his hip against the side of the bar. “So you do long hauls?”

Long hauls? Oh, yeah. He was a trucker. “Uh, yeah. Just waiting on my next pick up.”

“What part of New York are you from?”

“Westchester,” he responded, leaning back casually. “About an hour’s train ride from the city. Ever been?”

“New York?” the kid inquired dubiously. He leaned his elbows on the counter top, lacing his long fingers together as he regarded Logan with interest. God, he couldn’t stop staring at those piercing blue eyes, bright and wide and full of light. “No. I’d love to go, though. How’d you wind up there?”

Logan shrugged. “A girl.”

Jack smiled again, nodding in understanding. “Say no more. You want another beer?”

“Sure.”

Logan drank quietly while he watched Jack methodically clean up the bar, polishing glasses and sorting away liquor. The young man did some inventory, checking things off on a clipboard, took out the garbage and kept an eye on his patrons, looking pretty and bored and completely out of place in a hellhole like this when he should’ve been out there wrangling rowdy mutant kids by day and saving the world by night.

Tipping his head towards the kids by the dartboard who had moved on to a new topic of conversation (apparently Cindy the waitress next door had started sleeping with the clerk at the hardware store, the next fool in a long string of boys to fall for Cindy’s guiles), Logan asked, “So who’s this murderer I should be looking out for around here?”

For a moment Jack appeared bemused before recognition crossed his features. He laughed. “Don’t pay those kids any mind. You know up here we have a lot of folks that like to live off the grid. It’s probably just some guy minding his own business. Hey, I’m closing up soon, you want another beer?”

Logan declined the offer, instead requesting his bill and pulling some cash out of his wallet to drop on the counter. He left while Jack was busy tending to the old men in the booth, stepping outside quietly into the dark street. The building itself was free-standing, alleyways on both sides, separating it from other businesses. Logan leaned against a streetlamp, lighting up a cigar and casually having a smoke, waiting as the old men left first, then the group of kids just a little after midnight, and finally the lights in the bar dimmed down.

He slinked around back, to where the building butted against the surrounding forest, finding enough space for a few cars to park but there were none there. Otherwise, parking was in the street, and the kids and old men had taken off in all the vehicles that had been parked there. So Jack was walking home, or maybe someone was coming to pick him up. He either didn’t own a car or didn’t drive, or both, and Logan wondered if it was by choice or perhaps he didn’t have the proper identification to get a driver’s license.

Logan knew all about the inconveniences of not having a birth certificate.

About a fifteen minutes later, his ears picked up the sound of the back door opening. Quickly, he stepped back into an alcove to hide, watching as Jack emerged, wearing a jacket, scarf, and hat, and carrying a large trash bag. He set it down on the ground for a moment so he could lock the door, then hoisted it into the dumpster. Once finished, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the alley towards the front of the building.

He followed Jack home, able to keep ample distance between them thanks to his heightened sense of smell. The guy didn’t live far from the bar, just a twenty minute walk to his apartment located above an antique shop. He watched him climb the staircase on the side of the building, slip his key in the lock and go inside. Lights illuminated the windows in one side of the apartment for a little while, maybe a half hour or so, before they cut off. The other side of the apartment lit up, Logan catching sight of the young man in the window for a brief moment. He’d pulled his shirt off, creamy pale skin glowing in the soft light, and then he was drawing the curtains. A few minutes later it was dark.

Logan waited a little longer, but the lights never came back on. With a sigh, he turned and headed back towards his motel room, preparing himself for a restless night’s sleep.

* * *

Cindy had been right about the town picking up on Fridays. The streets were a lot busier than yesterday, crowded with people, the lots filled with cars. A now familiar scent drew Logan to Frank’s Diner, and this time it wasn’t the bacon and eggs, although he had to admit he was ravenous. The bell chimed as he entered, muted by the noise of a bustling diner: conversation, plates clattering, patrons eating. He spotted the kid right away, seated at the counter with a baby in his lap.

Carefully, Logan maneuvered his way around full tables and managed to grab a seat right next to Jack, although the bartender didn’t notice him right away, occupied with feeding pancakes to the infant on his lap. The baby had fair skin, her hair fine and blond; her eyes were the same shade of blue as the owner of the lap she was sitting on. Desperately, he tried to remember what color the waitress’ eyes at the bar had been last night, but he hadn’t been paying much attention to her.

“Cute kid,” Logan muttered out of the side of his mouth, turning his coffee cup right side up. A waitress was fast approaching with a pot of coffee, and he definitely didn’t want to miss her after his restless night’s sleep.

Jack glanced up and caught sight of Logan, his face lighting up with a bright smile as he recognized his customer from the bar last night. “Hey, old man! I see you made it to the best diner in town.”

The waitress snorted. She was an older woman with artificial red hair pulled up into a messy bun, her nametag reading Lori. “Really, Jack? It’s the only diner in town.”

“With the prettiest waitresses,” he quipped.

She looked at him, her mouth quirked into a smile. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, kid? You don’t need to flatter, that face will get you anywhere.”

“Hasn’t gotten me your phone number yet.”

“Sir? Don’t mind this wiseguy,” she told Logan. “He doesn’t represent the rest of our townspeople. What can I get for you?”

He ordered some breakfast, quietly observing the man beside him while he waited for his food. He wondered briefly if he should be checking out other customers while he was there, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes or ears off of Jack. Smelled nice too, that sharp, clean scent.

“No, no,” the man beside him cooed to the fidgety baby. He pulled a fork out of her hand, trading it for a spoon. “Here you go. Fair trade, right?”

“When’s Melinda coming to pick her up?” Lori asked, leaning forward to make playful faces at the baby.

“She’s got class until noon, so,” he responded, bouncing his knee. The baby giggled, smashing a hand sticky with syrup on the side of his face. He grimaced, picking a napkin up and dipping it in his glass of water before wiping at his cheek, then her hands. “Hopefully I can grab a nap before shift tonight.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing with that girl,” the woman said, as she cast him a warning glare.

Jack briefly glanced Logan’s way, shifting uncomfortably before turning back to the waitress. “I’m not doing anything. Just helping out a friend.”

“She’s bad news, you know.”

“She’s just a kid.”

“So are you, sweetie,” she reminded him with a knowing smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Can I get the check, please?”

“It’s on me today.”

“Ah, see!” he crowed, tapping Logan playfully on the arm. “Flattery did get me somewhere!”

“Probably was your face,” the old mutant retorted. The waitress pointed at Logan, nodding in agreement.

Jack laughed, light and melodious and the best sound Logan had ever heard. He stood up, baby in one arm, placing his free hand on Logan’s shoulder and squeezing firmly. “Hey, will I see you at my bar tonight? I’m there ‘til close.”

“Depends,” Logan shrugged, looking up into those killer baby blues sparkling with mischief. “Will flattery get me a free drink?”

“Nah,” Jack shot back. “But your face might.”

The bartender winked, Logan offering him a sideways grin, and if anyone had ever asked him if he would ever be caught dead flirting with stick-up-his-ass, type-A-personality, OCD freak Scott Summers, the answer would have been a resounding “no.” But _this_ version of Scott? Jack the Bartender? He was charming and lively and sweet, and it was so easy feel comfortable around him, to fall into a banter as if they’d known each other for years.

As he watched the man leave, he wondered if, beneath the layers and layers of pressed oxford shirts and khaki pants and Ralph Lauren sweaters, if this man had been hiding there all along. If Scott hadn’t had to live up to the expectations of Daddy Warbucks, or a smart, classy older gal like Jean, would this have been the man he would have known? Without uncontrollable, deadly laserbeams for eyes and the need to retain the image of a perfect Boy Scout at the school, of the stoic, fearless leader in the field, could that charming, easygoing kid have been the real Scott Summers?

If Logan had _ever_ known _that_ version of Scott, perhaps Jeannie would’ve been the one to have some competition.

He toured around town for the rest of the day, performing his due diligence in searching for this mutant just in case Jack was Jack, and not some alternate universe version of Scott Summers that had somehow survived atomization and put himself back together. He ignored nearly all of the text messages from ’Ro, just writing back once that he was still searching but had a couple of leads, which wasn’t entirely untrue. Although the new teacher seemed innocent enough, just a young lady who had come back to town to take care of her sick mother, and everyone seemed to write off the seven-foot-tall psycho hermit in the woods as a children’s fairy tale.

The more he wandered the town searching vainly and the more dead ends he came up with, the more he wanted so badly to call ’Ro and tell her to come down here, to frog march her right into the bar and show Jack to her, just so she could tell him he wasn’t crazy. But the idea of getting her hopes up, of presenting her to someone who wasn’t one of her oldest, most treasured friends...he just wasn’t convinced enough to risk breaking her heart one more time.

He needed to do more recon on this guy. Just to be sure. So he spent the day dicking around town and then headed back to the bar, finding it much busier than the night before. Nearly all of the booths were taken, tables full even when the stools had been moved to accommodate larger groups at other tables, nearly every seat at the bar taken. Logan had to push his way through the crowd, finding a seat at the end of the bar, but Jack was occupied on the opposite end, filling orders with a grim determination but still managing to smile charmingly at his patrons when delivering their drinks.

“Hey, honey, what can I get for you?” the female waitress from the night before asked. Melinda, with bright blue eyes, and Logan tried to ignore the irrational joy he felt at knowing Jack was not the father of her baby, although they could still be sleeping together, and then he was forcing down a different feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach.

“Just a beer, any one’ll do,” he ordered gruffly, pulling out some cash. She smiled and placed a bottle down in front of him, offering him change and then she was right on to the next customer. He watched her flirt with an endless line of men, touching their hands and smiling coyly. She obviously had her regulars, good looking younger boys that fawned over her every word.

“Old man!” he heard, drawing his attention away from Melinda. He found himself fighting a smile, tipping his head at the young bartender as he put on an air of disinterest. Jack pointed to his beer with one hand, placing the other on Melinda’s shoulder. “That one’s on me, all right? Good to see ya.”

And then he was gone, back to his side of the bar in a whirlwind, off to make more drinks for the never ending line of needy customers. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get some time alone with Jack to conversate or just to observe him with all the rush of people here. Even if he did manage to grab a seat on the young man’s side of the bar, there was hardly time for conversation during a busy night like this.

“Is Jimmy going to be there?” Melinda’s voice, speaking to another girl that looked close to her age. They were standing at the server’s entrance to the bar, the girls talking while Melinda put together a large order of mixed drinks and beers. Logan stared into his beer, pretending not to listen, but they were too far away for anyone to suspect he could actually hear them anyway.

“I don’t know, Mel,” the other woman replied, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “He’s Lance’s brother and the party’s at Lance’s house, so probably. Just get over it.”

“Get over it?” she asked, obviously insulted. “He tried to fuck my sister.”

“So what? That was like, six months ago.” The woman indicated Jack with a nod of her head, then smiled slyly. “Besides, Jack’s going to be there...who’s he going to hang out with if you don’t come? Well, Trish is going, so I guess -- ”

“Ugh! _Trish?_ ” Melinda spat, her pretty face contorted in disgust. “Please, that skank has been all over him since he came into town. Yeah, right. Like he’s even remotely interested in her. You know what? I’ll be there. _Somebody’s_ gotta watch out for him.”

The other girl smiled, obviously pleased with her manipulation of Melinda’s emotions, then said, “So who’s the hot lumberjack over there?”

Logan’s eyes lifted in surprise at the words, catching the other woman’s gaze, who immediately looked away with a blush rising in her cheeks as she compressed a smile. Hot lumberjack? Well, that was certainly a new one.

“Who? That guy?” Melinda asked, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Some trucker. You think he’s hot?”

“Yeah, in an older daddy kind of way.”

“Oh, my God, Gina,” the other girl retorted, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “You’ve got issues.”

“Jack seems to like him.”

“You know Jack,” Melinda responded dismissively, with just a hint of irritation -- whether at Jack or Gina, Logan couldn’t tell. She picked up the drinks she had just made and balanced them on a tray for delivery. “He likes everybody.”

“Yeah, right,” Gina muttered under her breath, in a way that suggested something deeper, but exactly what, Logan couldn’t tell. He filed it away for later.

A party, eh? Letting out a deep breath, Logan’s eyes tracked Jack before traveling back to Gina, standing in the corner of the bar by herself now that Melinda was busy with a new batch of customers. She grabbed her drink and headed away from the chaos of the bar, then slipped into the bathroom. Logan took that as his cue to move. He slid off his stool and elbowed his way to the restrooms, waiting until she reemerged before stepping by her casually to get into the men’s room. He accidentally knocked into her, her drink spilling forward onto his forearm.

“Hey! Watch it!” she cried, her pretty face contorted with annoyance until she realized who she had bumped into, and then suddenly she was all sheepish apologies. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, brushing off his shirt sleeve.

“Gosh, I sure made a mess out of you!” she said, laughing breathlessly as she patted down his arm. “Let me get you some napkins.”

“It’s okay, really,” he reiterated, placing a large hand over hers, stopping her in her ministrations. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and smiled as cordially as he knew how, hoping he didn’t look too deranged. “You barely got me. It was my fault anyway, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I’m Logan.”

She offered him a bashful smile. “Gina.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, nodding towards the bar. “On account of me spilling your last one.”

“Sure,” she chirped cheerfully, leading him back through the crowd. He followed her back to bar, although his previous seat was now taken. He found another stool, pulling it out for her and indicating for her to sit. She grinned. “A gentleman too? Don’t see those types around here too often.”

Logan was pretty sure the types of men Gina hung around with were all boys, college-aged and after only one thing. He wasn’t pretending to be much better, and he felt a little guilty for playing her, but there was nothing inherently wrong with a man buying a young lady a drink, even if he was old enough to be her great, great, great, great --

“Ready for another round?” Melinda asked, as she made her rounds.

“Please,” Logan said. “And one of whatever she’s having.”

“Sure thing,” Melinda replied hesitantly, sneaking an incredulous glance at Gina, who shot a look right back, the two women communicating in that way that close girlfriends always did. Melinda dropped a beer bottle heavily on the counter top, then deposited some bright yellow drink in front of her friend. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She gave Gina another Look before turning to the next customer.

“So, where are you from?” Gina asked, and took a sip of her drink through the tiny black cocktail straw.

“New York.”

“Wow, New York?” she breathed, her eyes widening in interest. “I’ve never been there. Never been anywhere. Well, except Edmonton. That’s the most of my excitement.” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at her admission. He could smell the nerves and lust emanating off of her, mixed with whatever cheap perfume she was wearing; it kind of smelled like a child’s sickeningly sweet fruity breakfast cereal. “Anyway, so...you married?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

Yeah, about a hundred of them, rambunctious and mouthy and climbing the walls at the school -- some of them literally. “No.”

She glanced away, chewing on the end of her straw, and he realized quickly that he was losing her interest. He glanced at Jack at the other end of the bar, who was grinning at a customer, blue eyes shining as he shrugged innocently at whatever the woman was saying. Hastily, Logan turned back to Gina, scrambling to find something to say.

“What about you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he gave her an appraising look. “A pretty girl like you must have someone waiting at home, eh?”

She smiled bashfully into her chest, biting her bottom lip and giggling. “I live with my parents.”

He nearly choked on his beer. “Just how old are you?”

“Old enough,” she responded suggestively, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze from beneath dark eyelashes. God, she couldn’t have been older than Marie. Still, it was old enough to know better than to talk to strange old men in seedy bars. He wanted nothing more than to grab her arm and hustle her back to her parents’ house and insist they never let her out of their sight again.

But he had a party to get invited to. He sighed. “I’ll bet. Want another drink?”

* * *

Gina did not hold her liquor very well. She was pretty tipsy by the time they left the bar to head to the party. Guilty he’d duped her into inviting him, and feeling responsible for getting her drunk (not that he would have ever guessed three drinks would sink that ship), he grabbed her car keys and took her to a fast food joint at one of the 24-hour truck stops and put some burgers and fries into her stomach.

She appeared so young under the harsh fluorescent lights, eye makeup smudged and lipstick worn away so only a hint of pink tint remained. She looked up at him with big eyes like Marie did sometimes, wide and bright with hero worship as she gushed enthusiastically about how she was going to move out of Fox City some day, to a big city like New York and that she would look him up if she ever made it there so he could show her around.

He escorted her back into town, the food in her belly allowing her to come down from her buzz as they made their way to this guy Lance’s house. She chattered away about how Lance’s brother Jimmy was Melinda’s baby’s daddy, how Jimmy had tried to sleep with Melinda’s sister six months ago. That Melinda had found out and finally dumped that lowlife, hoping to score with Jack but Gina was sure Jack wasn’t interested in her that way, stating it in that peculiar way again. She quickly went on, telling him Jack was just a nice guy with a big heart and a sucker for sad stories, at least as long as Gina had known him, and Logan tried to ask more questions but he couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise. Apparently, Gina sober was quite the talker. He briefly wondered if she was a mutant; she seemed to be able to talk incessantly without needing to take a breath.

Even though it was well past three in the morning when they arrived, the party was in full swing. He parked on the dark street behind a line of cars, the windows of Lance’s house illuminated with bright lights, the bass of music resounding through the air. Luckily, there weren’t many houses nearby to complain about the noise, just a few down the road a ways; otherwise, the place was surrounded by dense forest.

They made their way up the sidewalk and onto the front porch, where kids were huddled up in the cold smoking cigarettes and weed, clutching their beers and red party cups. Gina acknowledged them briefly, before quickly heading in the house to escape the freezing temperatures.

It was even louder inside. The music was the same kind of indie rock that some of the kids back in Westchester listened to, tinny guitars and heavy drums, a high-pitched singer lamenting the woes of censorship or loneliness or whatever it was that kids these days thought they were breaking new ground on that people had been singing about since music was invented. The air was surprisingly clear inside, but maybe Lance didn’t allow people to smoke in his home, which would explain why all those kids were outside in the antarctic instead of comfortably warm with the rest of the partygoers in here.

Immediately, he picked up that familiar smell amongst the tangle of foreign scents, bright and clean and sharp. Jack was sitting on a couch in the back corner of the room, arm draped around Melinda’s shoulders, who was sitting beside him. She was leaning into him casually, her hand on his knee, body language signaling to anyone within spitting distance to back off. Logan bit back an unexpected growl in his throat, swallowing it down as he blinked in surprise at his own reaction.

He allowed Gina to lead him to the small group of people gathered over there, who were involved in an animated discussion. Jack was rolling his eyes, holding a red party cup balanced on his knee, shaking his head in embarrassment.

“Don’t be so modest!” Cindy, the night waitress from Frank’s diner was saying, still wearing her uniform and a dark scarf around her neck. She was seated on another worn, leather couch facing the one Jack and Melinda were sitting on. “You totally saved my life!”

“It’s fine,” Jack insisted, but didn’t continue as he noticed Gina approach.

“Hey, guys,” Gina greeted, smiling as she surveyed the group. She stuck her thumb over her shoulder at her impromptu date. “This is Logan.”

Jack seemed surprised for only the briefest of moments before he recovered, his expression displaying both confusion and amusement.

“Hey, old man,” he said slowly, as he extended his hand, eyes shifting between Gina and him. “I’m Jack.”

Logan grasped his hand, warm and strong and alive against his palm as he nodded in greeting. Melinda introduced herself; Cindy did the same, and then scooted over to make room for them, pushing a couple of other kids off the couch so he and Gina could sit down.

“Want a drink?” Melinda asked, her grin sly. “Bar’s closed, you’ll have to get it yourself. I love saying that.”

Jack nudged her side, but he was laughing. “You’re so rude. I’ll get you guys something. What do you want?”

Logan asked for a beer, Gina requesting another vodka drink; he wanted to warn her to slow down, but he wasn’t her father, or her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her friend. And he supposed he was stuck seeing her home out of obligation anyway, so it’s not like he was worried about her driving. Just maybe throwing up in her own car on the way.

“What were you guys talking about?” Gina asked once Jack was gone, leaning forward in her seat.

“Jack saved my life!” Cindy cried dramatically. “Look at this.” She leaned forward and pushed her hair away from her neck while pulling her scarf down. There was a large red and puffy bruise across her throat, still fresh, not an ugly purpling color just yet, but it would be in a few days. Gina and Melinda both gasped, mouths gaping. Logan frowned, brow knit in concern. “I was closing up the diner, right? Chico already went home and it was just me. I locked the door and was gonna take out the trash, and then I was gonna head to the bar. So I walk around back to put the trash in the dumpster, and this guy is back there just like, waiting for me.”

“Oh, my God,” Melinda interjected. Logan could smell the anxiety and fear emanating off the three women, their postures tense.

“He said he wanted to talk to me,” she told them, a shudder wracking her body as she remembered. “That he was waiting for me after shift so we could talk _alone_ , and then I remember that he’d come into the diner like, hours ago, and I guess I was nice to him but I don’t think I did anything to make him think I was like in love with him or wanted to jump his bones or anything.”

“So what happened?” Gina asked. “What’d you do?”

“I tell him that I remember him and try to be like, nice, right?” she continued. “Because I didn’t want him to get mad at me or anything. I’m like, oh I just need to put the trash in the dumpster and then I was gonna head to the bar to have a drink, and if you want to, you can come and we can have a drink together, you know? I’m like, _please_ just let me get to the bar and I’ll just start screaming and the guys there will take care of him.”

“Oh, my God, and then what?” Gina pressed, her words running together as they rushed out of her.

“So he says sure, and I put the trash in the dumpster and then turn around to walk to the bar, and then I start running and that was a _huge_ mistake,” she stated, her eyes wide and reflecting a terror that was still as fresh as the bruise on her throat. “He grabs me from behind and just puts his arm around my throat, and he’s dragging me back to the alley.”

“Jesus Christ,” Melinda murmured quietly. “Oh, my God.”

“And I’m trying to get away, like I’m scratching at his arms and his face and I’m just kicking him, but he’s got me so hard I can’t even scream,” she said, her voice wavering. “And then I think I scratched his eye or something because he starts cursing and lets go of me a little bit, and I just start screaming as loud as I can but I can’t get away from him. He drags me to his truck and I’m like, if he gets me into his fucking truck I’m going to die. He’s going to rape me and kill me and that’s it. And then out of nowhere I hear Jack screaming at this guy.

“The guy shoves me into the side of his truck and I hit the ground, and I must have hit my head or from him choking me or what, but I have no clue what’s going on. All I’m thinking is that this guy is going to kill Jack, and I’m trying to get my shit together to warn him or help him or -- I don’t know, but when I look up, Jack’s just like, kung-fu-ing the shit out of this guy. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s just fucking. This. Guy. Up.”

Jack returned with drinks in his hands just then, doling them out and seeming to realize that they’d been talking about him from the way his eyes darted suspiciously between the women and Logan. He sat down beside Melinda once more, taking his drink that she had been holding for him while he was gone and focusing intensely on it.

“Keep going!” Melinda urged, and Gina chimed in similarly, waving their hands frantically. She turned to Jack. “Cindy’s telling us how you saved her life!”

Jack shifted uncomfortably but didn’t say anything as Cindy continued, “So Jack’s totally beating this guy into next week, it’s like a joke. Dude keeps swinging at him and Jack’s not even trying. He gets him on the ground, has his arm behind him like he’s gonna break it like a twig, guy’s crying in pain, and then Jack just casually looks at me over his shoulder, calm as hell, and says, ‘Cindy, are you all right?’ And I’m like, ‘yeah,’ and he goes, ‘Are you able to go inside and call the police?’ all calm and cool like he’s a cop or something, so I get up and my purse is still on the ground, and I just get my cell phone and call the cops, and just wait outside listening to this guy crying while Jack’s breaking his arm until the cops show up.”

“Holy shit,” Melinda breathed in disbelief, offering Jack a dubious look. “Wow, Jack.”

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just did what anybody else would have done.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that!” Cindy declared with eyes wide in amazement. “I don’t know anybody who ever moved like you did. You were like Chuck Norris and Jean-Claude Van Damme all rolled into one. It was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Melinda visibly bristled and shifted closer to Jack, quickly adding, “Yeah, Jack, you’re amazing.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, regarding Jack carefully, his stare almost challenging. “Where’s a bartender learn moves like that? You military or something?”

Jack gaze shifted quickly between Logan and the women, then suddenly smiled slyly and winked right at Logan. “Come on. Everybody loves a man of mystery. Can’t tell all my secrets.”

_Yeah_ , Logan thought. _Especially if he doesn’t remember any of them._

The party went on, kids coming and going throughout the night. Logan kept up with Gina, talking to her friends and gathering bits and pieces of the details of life in Fox City. It was a quiet life, just truckers passing through, residents like Melinda and Cindy keeping the place running while their parents ran the family business, and those who were lucky, like Gina hoped to be, got the hell out of there and never looked back.

Jack was a different story. No one seemed to know much about him, except that he’d shown up a few months ago working at one of the local truck stops. From there he moved on to barback at the bar, then promoted when one of the other bartenders had gotten fired for drinking during shift. He lived quietly, and even though he was very popular amongst the young women in town -- namely Melinda -- none had managed to capture his interest just yet.

It was nearly dawn when Logan found his first opportunity to get Jack alone, purely by chance. Gina was leaning a little too heavily against Logan on the couch, and when he glanced over at her, she was sound asleep, eyes closed and mouth slack. He turned to Melinda, who was still glued to Jack’s side on the other couch, although currently they were involved in two different conversations with other guests.

“Hey,” he called to her. “I need to get her home. She live around here?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, shifting a little uneasily as her gaze darted between the two of them. “She’s right down the street, actually. You can leave her car here. Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you get Gina home? Logan said he’d walk her, you can show him how to get there.”

“Sure,” the young man responded, then pulled a face at Gina’s sleeping form. “Oh, man. She’s really out, huh?”

Logan nudged the young woman, but she only murmured incoherently before burrowing further into his shoulder. He looked up at Jack. “Yeah.”

“All right,” he conceded, and then sighed. “Let me just get a couple things and then we’ll head out.”

The younger man stood up, then walked into the kitchen, moving in that deliberate way people did when they’d had just a little too much to drink. He returned shortly, stuffing two cans of beers into the pockets of his jacket. To Logan’s askance look, he clarified, “Roadies. Let’s go.”

Together, they roused Gina enough to get her jacket on her, slung one of her arms over each of their shoulders, and began their slow and careful walk to her house. She was barely awake between them, protesting sleepily along the way.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Jack blurted, his breath escaping in a puff of steam. “I hope you appreciate this in the morning, Gina.”

“Course I appreciate you guys,” Gina slurred. “You guys are the best. I love you guys. Especially you…you, uh…” She trailed off, at a loss as she intently studied Logan’s face, trying and failing to recall his name.

“Logan,” the old mutant offered helpfully.

“Logan,” she repeated with conviction.

“Flattering,” Jack commented dryly.

“We could have taken her car,” Logan said to Jack over Gina’s head. “Or yours.”

“I don’t drive,” he replied, continuing seamlessly, “Besides, she’s like ten minutes away. I live just twenty minutes from her. Probably will just head home after dropping her off.”

“What about your girl back there?” Logan asked as innocently as possible, trying to sound indifferent.

Jack rolled his eyes, as if the implication was a familiar annoyance. “She’s not my girl.”

“She seems all right,” he said, in an advocating sort of way, hoping to pry more information out of him without overstepping his bounds, but Jack was either comfortable sharing information or buzzed enough to be more loose-lipped than he might’ve been otherwise.

“She’s fine,” he responded, before shrugging. “She’s just not my girl. There’s her house. Gina, you need to wake up a little bit or your mom’s going to be super pissed.”

“We gonna get the riot act?” Logan asked cautiously.

Jack grinned disarmingly. “Nah. Gina’s mom loves me. Gina! Wake up!”

They handed a very drunk and sleepy Gina over to her very tired and exasperated mother, who clucked disapprovingly at her daughter before smiling sweetly at Jack and giving Logan a wary glance. She offered them some coffee or breakfast, but they both politely declined. Gina, her arms slung over her mother’s shoulders, leaning heavily against her, eyed both Jack and Logan with suspicion.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

“Heading home,” Jack responded, his mouth twitching as if he were trying not to smile, and Logan got the feeling there was a joke going on here somewhere, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Yeah, me too,” Logan said.

Gina sighed. “Figures. Take me to bed, Mom.”

“Come on, baby,” her mother cooed. “Good night, boys.”

Once the door closed, Jack reached into his pockets and pulled out the beers, handing one to Logan.

“Thanks,” Logan said, cracking it open and taking a sip. “What was that about?” Jack shrugged, his lips hidden by the beer can but his eyes were sparkling. Logan continued, “So, you headed home?”

“Yeah. You too?”

“Yeah. Gonna head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Two Rivers, I think it’s called.”

“Cool. I’ll walk you into town.”

The sun was just beginning to rise, dark blue sky slowly illuminating into lighter and lighter shades. The chill of the night was still present in the air, sharp winds finding their way through alleys and whipping past the two men, invisible fingers tugging at their clothes and ruffling their hair. They drank their beers in companionable silence, Logan stealing glances at Jack’s profile, watching the way he moved, searching in vain for the field leader he used to know.

“Is there something on my face?” the young man asked, eyes cast forward, sheepish smile on his face.

“No.”

“You keep looking at me.”

“Just looking,” he responded, realizing he was busted but not really knowing what else to say.

The answer seemed to please Jack, who laughed a little before he paused briefly, stepping into the doorway of a building. Logan waited for him as he dug a pack of Camel Lights out of his pocket and lit a cigarette.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Logan commented stupidly as they began walking again, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at himself.

“Didn’t know you knew anything about me,” Jack murmured, his face scrunching up in what was becoming a familiar mix of puzzlement and amusement, as if Logan was some kind of mystery he couldn’t quite figure out but was too entertained by to give up. The older man found himself liking being the focus of that attention.

“Meant I haven’t seen you smoke all night,” he quickly backpedaled. “Besides, you don’t look the type.”

“Oh, yeah? What type do I look like?” Jack asked. He was smiling again, one of those sideways smiles that Logan was getting so used to, smiles he wondered had only been reserved for Jean, maybe Charles too. Smiles he would miss if Jack really did belong in Fox City, Alberta, and not Salem Center, New York. Smiles he would probably miss even if Jack _did_ belong in Salem Center, New York, because surely those smiles would never be witnessed again by Logan, the guy that had made Scott’s life hell, ruffling his feathers just for something to do while trying incessantly to steal his girlfriend and undermine his authority.

“More like a Boy Scout,” Logan retorted, unable to help smiling back.

“A Boy Scout!” Jack cried, holding his hand over his heart on mock incredulity, cigarette still clutched between his fingers. He pointed at the other man with it. “Hardly. I’ll have you know I’m quite the badass.”

Logan barked with laughter. “Oh, yeah? One of those dangerous, biker types?”

“Yeah, the kind you don’t bring home to mommy,” he agreed, nodding with a sly look on his face. “Danger’s my middle name, baby.”

“More like trouble,” Logan retorted.

“That’s my last name.”

“Jack Danger Trouble?”

He shrugged. “My parents were hippies.”

Jack tipped closer to Logan, clutching the older man’s arm as he laughed airily, comfortable and loose-limbed in a way that the older mutant never could have imagined before. They paused once more in front of the antique shop Jack lived right above, the kid still laughing, his face pressed against Logan’s shoulder now, close enough for Logan to smell him; sharp and clean and new, untouched, intertwined with cigarette smoke and whiskey and beer. It was dark and alluring and innocent all at the time time, something he would have never associated with the Boy Scout before all this, and Logan felt a stirring deep in the pit of his belly.

He looked up then, blue eyes bright and sparkling with the sunrise, his face only inches away from Logan’s, smile fading as he studied Logan’s face. What he saw, the other man had no clue; probably someone old, someone weary, someone...strange. Unfamiliar. Logan’s chest tightened, his heart aching for a man that wasn’t, that might have been, that could be.

Still clutching Logan’s jacket sleeve, Jack pulled him just a little closer, warm breath ghosting across Logan’s lips. Logan froze, tense, waiting, fearing any wrong movement would ruin the moment and spook Jack into fleeing like a timid colt, but Jack didn’t seem afraid.

“Is this okay?” the younger man whispered softly, still ever the gentleman, even reincarnated.

No. It wasn’t. This was a bad idea. Logan’s brain was practically screaming it at him, bright red neon letters flashing NO, NO, NO. He saw Jean’s face, her lips in a thin line, frowning in disapproval, eyes unamused as they peered at him over her glasses. The Professor’s patient stare as he allowed Logan to realize his mistake, to understand it, to know what he should do instead, the old man not needing to chastise, his silence enough to humble even the most shameless of men.

If Jack was a random, albeit mysterious, stranger from Fox City, Alberta, this would mean nothing. If he was Scott Summers, Field Leader of the X-Men, this would mean...taking advantage of an amnesiac, deceiving someone who didn’t know any better, betraying Scott’s trust and sacrificing Logan’s own integrity while dashing any hope for any of this to be real in the future, so many other negative things Logan didn’t even have a vocabulary range wide enough to express just how wrong this all was.

Of course, no one had ever accused Logan of being the most reasonable man. He pushed all those thoughts aside and instead answered the question by slipping his hands on either side of Jack’s face, rough stubble against his large palms, and pulled him close, pressing his mouth firmly against warm, dry lips. Breathing hard through his nose, he kissed Jack fervently, slipping his tongue past those lips and into the young man’s warm, wet mouth as he felt Jack’s hands slide under his jacket and rest on his hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans to get even closer, and it was like an electric shock jolting his dick right through his jeans as their groins met, arcing up his spine and frying his brain until all he could think was _more_.

They pulled away only for the necessity of air, Jack leaning against Logan’s shoulder, warm breath puffing against his neck before the young man chuckled softly.

“Gina’s going to be so mad I stole her date again,” he murmured.

“So that’s what that was about.”

“It’s not my fault Gina’s got good taste,” Jack argued in defense, leaning back to consider Logan appraisingly with those bright blue eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, Logan found himself blushing under the intense gaze. “ _Very_ good taste. You want to go upstairs?”

“Sure.”

There was that dazzling grin again, and then Jack was slipping his hand into Logan’s and pulling him up the stairs. The older man came up behind Jack as he fished for his keys and slipped his key in the lock, pressing his front against Jack’s back, pressing his erection against Jack’s ass, his hands sliding onto slender hips, lips pressing against the warm skin of his neck. Jack laughed breathlessly, leaning his head to the side to allow Logan better access, shuddering when teeth nipped at his skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him squirm.

The door pushed open, the two men practically tumbling inside into the kitchen, and now that Logan had had a taste, he didn’t want to stop. Sharing the sentiment, Jack turned swiftly, pushing Logan up against the door and slamming it closed, grabbing the lapels of his jacket as he pressed his body flush to the older man’s, their lips meeting in a rough, demanding kiss. He shoved the jacket down, Logan complying eagerly as he shrugged out of it and allowed it to drop to the floor.

Jack pulled off his own jacket, tossing it aside haphazardly, his fingers then moving to fumble at Logan’s belt. It was unbuckled and his pants undone within moments, before a warm hand encircled his hard cock, the touch eliciting an involuntary hiss from Logan’s lips.

“Damn, you’re big,” Jack said breathlessly.

“Yeah, you like ’em big?” Logan growled.

“Yeah.”

And then Jack was dropping to his knees right there in the kitchen, gripping the base of his dick, big blue eyes looking up at him beseechingly, mouth opening and just a hint of a smile before -- _fuck_ , that hot, wet mouth engulfed his cock, lips stretched tight around the shaft, and he had to watch as his dick disappeared in and out, over and over between those perfect full lips.

Damn, the kid knew how to suck a dick, definitely wasn’t his first time, that was for sure. Sucking and jacking him at the same time with those long, elegant fingers, making noises like it was the best thing he’d ever had the pleasure of doing. Logan barely had the wherewithal to wonder if Scott had some past life he didn’t know about, if Jeannie hadn’t been his first, if the two of them had been arranged or perhaps their relationship just expected, forced, or maybe in this new life the Boy Scout had decided to take a walk on the wild side for once.

All present brain function left, however, when Jack took him all the way to the root, his dick hitting the back of the young man’s throat, and then he _swallowed_ and that was all it took. Logan grabbed a fistfull of hair and held tight, keeping Jack right where he was as he came down his throat, grunting as he pushed his hips against the other man’s face. His breath exploded from him as he released his hold on Jack, chest heaving, and he had to tip his head back against the door and close his eyes for a moment to catch his breath. The other man’s hands idly rubbed up and down Logan’s clothed thighs as he recovered from his orgasm, before Logan reached down to capture one of those hands beneath his as he looked down. Taking in the sight of mussed hair and swollen, pink lips, Logan thought it was the sexiest thing he’d seen in a long fucking time.

“Damn,” he breathed.

Jack smiled in a smug kind of way, satisfied with his own handiwork, and then the young man’s tongue darted out as he licked away a drop of come leaking from Logan’s spent dick. Logan twitched away, too sensitive for the time being, but it only made Jack smile wider.

The young man stood up. “Come on.”

Logan followed him past the kitchen and small living area to the bedroom, watching as the young man pulled his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist. The bumps of his spine lead the eye down as Jack slid his pants down long, shapely legs, his ass two perfect round globes, high and tight, and Logan had a full feeling in his cock at the thought of laying claim to that beautiful body.

Jack toed off his boots, and bent down to pull his pants the rest of the way off, removing his socks at the same time, keeping his balance by leaning against the bed with one hand; Logan couldn’t help coming up behind him, pressing his cock against the cleft of Jack’s ass, the rough fabric of the dark jeans Logan was still wearing a stark contrast to the creamy smooth skin of the other man. Logan pushed him forward with a firm hand on the back of his neck, pressing his face into the bed, holding him there as he admired the other man’s ass. He rubbed his hand appreciatively over one cheek before grabbing his own dick, now hard, smearing sticky precome up and down the crack.

Jack laughed breathlessly. “Ready again already?”

“Not bad for an old man, eh?” Logan retorted, releasing the other man. Jack turned and sat down on the bed, scooting back and leaning back on his elbows, one leg stretched long, the other knee bent towards the sky. Idly, he reached down with one hand, wrapped those long, strong fingers around his erection and stroked himself, a half-mischievous, half-impressed smile on his lips.

God, how many times had Logan seen Scott in the locker room after a session in the danger room, peeling black leather from his sweat-sheened skin, muscles swollen from his workout. In the shower, eyes tightly closed as hot water and soap suds cascaded down his back, surrounded by steam.

But not like this. Logan could have never imagined this.

“How do you want to do this?” Jack asked, cocking a brow as he watched Logan undress.

“Top,” Logan responded gruffly, stepping closer to the bed once he was undressed. He placed one knee at the edge of the bed, stroking his erection as he eyed the young man hungrily. “You okay with that?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack replied eagerly, then nodded towards the nightstand. “Supplies in there.”

Logan slid open the drawer and extracted a condom and some lubricant. He didn’t need a condom, for the same reason he was able to achieve an erection so soon after coming: alpha level healing factor. However, Jack didn’t know that, and it wasn’t exactly the right time to disclose such information. For a moment, Logan froze, staring at the items in his hand, eyes traveling to the naked and waiting man on the bed. A stab of guilt hit him right in the gut as he met those unassuming blue eyes, watching Logan expectantly, and then the young man’s brow was furrowing, expression bemused.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, sitting up a bit. The older mutant opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come. “Logan? What’s wrong?”

The young man got up in his knees before moving close enough for Logan to feel the body heat emanating off of him, to smell that intoxicating scent that made his fingers itch to touch him all over, made him want to bite him and mark him and claim him. Logan’s will quickly began to falter, cracking and tumbling down, but he managed to shake his head clear long enough to force out, “We should talk.”

Jack shifted back. “You have something? What is it? HIV? Herpes?”

“No,” Logan answered quickly, the other man visibly relaxing at the words.

“Then what is it?” He shifted back again, eyes narrowing. “Someone back home? A wife or a girlfriend or something, right?” He frowned, jaw setting in a tight line. “I don’t like cheaters. And I don’t appreciate you -- ”

“No,” he said again, more forcefully this time. “I don’t have anybody. I just…I’m not who you think I am.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those closet cases. A blowjob from another guy’s okay, right, but anything more than that is ‘too gay’?”

“What? No.” Logan sighed with exasperation, wondering how this next version of Scott Summers was somehow managing to be even more annoying than the first. “Would you quit your yammering? I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Logan,” Jack began, plucking the condom and lubricant from his hand. He placed the condom on the bed. “I know what this is, and what this isn’t. We’re just two guys having some fun. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” is what Logan wanted to say, the words stuck right in his chest, ready to explode out of him, but Jack was squirting some of the lube onto Logan’s fingers, his eyes soft and understanding as he met Logan’s gaze, right before he turned around and settled onto his elbows and knees, face leaning against his folded arms, ass in the air. He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Come on, Logan,” Jack murmured, lashes lowered. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

Logan didn’t think. Instinct took over, the Wolverine growling deep in the back of his throat, and he hastily moved closer to kneel behind the other man, one hand rubbing up and down his back, the slick fingers of his other hand sliding in his crack to rub against his hole. Jack moaned, squirming as he pushed into Logan’s hand, Jack’s own hand reaching down to stroke his cock. Logan spread his cheeks, catching sight of his tiny, enticing opening.

He leaned in close, licking all the way from Jack’s balls to his asshole and up his crack, enjoying the way Jack jerked in surprise, then groaned shamelessly into the mattress. He reveled in the taste of him, in the heady scent of his sex and lust, a tension building inside him that was frantic and intense, the man in him wanting to fuck, the animal in him wanting to mark his territory and display his dominance. His claws itched beneath his skin, Logan having to fight hard to keep them sheathed. He focused instead on probing Jack’s hole with his tongue, opening him up and making him writhe in pleasure, an endless stream of whines and moans escaping his lips.

He paused to slide one slick finger all the way inside the other man, pulling out and then adding another, leaning in again to tongue the stretched skin around his fingers as he stroked in and out of him. Jack cried out when Logan hit his prostate, whining high and needy when he continued to slide over it, the sound speaking to the animal inside of Logan, begging him, submitting to him. He carefully withdrew his fingers, reaching for the condom and tearing open the foil with his teeth before rolling it over his aching erection. He slicked himself up with more lubricant, rubbed some on Jack’s hole, then grasped the base of his dick and pressed the throbbing head right against him.

“Ready?” he asked, voice rough.

“Please, Logan, fuck me.”

It took more control than Logan thought he possessed not to pound right into him. Slowly, he pressed forward, meeting brief resistance before the strong ring of muscle gave way, and then he was surrounded by tight, velvety heat. They both groaned in unison. He started with shallow strokes, waiting for Jack to loosen up around his large girth, sliding in further and further with each pass. Pink skin taut around his hard dick, Jack pushing back to meet him, wanting it, dying for it, breathlessly babbling words like _yes_ and _more_ and _please_ and _harder_.

Logan complied easily, really giving it to him now, gripping the young man’s narrow hips with bruising force as he pulled him back with each thrust and slammed into the tight heat of his ass hard, harder, faster. Jack braced one hand against the mattress, the other one against the wall, fingers clutching to remain in place as the intensity of Logan’s rigorous fucking nearly pushed him away. Logan leaned forward, draping his strong, furred chest over Jack’s smooth, flawless back as he reached around and wrapped his fingers around Jack’s hard cock, pumping him quick and rough. Slipped his other hand under Jack’s chest, wrapping a bulky arm around the slim body beneath him to grip his shoulder and pull him in even closer, deeper.

“Logan,” he gasped out, as the older man bared his teeth and bit the back of his neck, holding him firmly, surrounding him, possessing him. “Logan. I’m so close. I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so -- ”

Jack shouted as he came, the sound morphing into a long, drawn out moan as hot ribbons of come shot out of him and onto Logan’s hand, Jack’s belly, the mattress. His ass tightened around Logan’s dick, convulsing with his orgasm, Logan pounding into him as he chased his own pleasure, the familiar heat building in his belly, fire spreading through his veins, right down to his balls and he was coming hard within moments, growling against Jack’s skin, sinking his dick in as deep as he could as he spilled his seed in the condom.

For a moment they both remained still, breathing hard as they came down, sweat-slick and flushed from their exertion. Carefully, Logan grasped the condom and pulled out, leaning back on his haunches as he did so. He slipped it off and tied it before tossing it to the floor, then turned back to the man before him, who was still breathing hard on his elbows and knees. Still feeling anxious and a little bit wild, he spread Jack’s ass with one hand, admiring the way his hole fell open, loose and still slick, thrilling in the knowledge that he was responsible for that as he possessively slid two fingers inside, pushing in as far as they could go.

Jack gasped in surprise, then moaned in a protesting sort of way before pulling away and laying on his back. He regarded Logan with half-closed eyes. “You got to go get your shipment or something today?” Logan shook his head. “Good.” Jack turned to face towards the wall, pulling the covers over him. “Then stay awhile and I’ll let you fuck me again when we wake up.”

* * *

It took about five minutes of lying in Jack’s bed listening to the man snore softly beside him before the guilt really started to settle in. Though he supposed he should be used to it by now, just once in his life Logan wished he could make the right decision the first time instead of having to learn from his mistakes, and now there was a large part of him that really, really hoped he was wrong about who Jack really was.

He decided to stop dwelling on his own stupidity and take a moment to survey his surroundings now that he had the opportunity. The bedroom was small and sparse; there was a bed with a nightstand beside it that held an alarm clock and a lamp, and a dresser. Only a few personal items adorned the room, like the cologne on top of the dresser and a sci-fi book on the nightstand with an old movie ticket serving as a bookmark about halfway through. None of the furniture matched and was well worn, suggesting Jack had either bought or found the pieces used, or maybe the place had already come furnished when the kid had rented it.

Quietly, Logan got out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping young man. He rifled through Jack’s clothes, but only found some cash in his jeans, no wallet or I.D. card or nothing. The still open drawer of the nightstand only revealed more condoms and some miscellaneous items like spare change and plastic collar stays. The drawers in the dresser all had clothes. There was no closet, his few pair of shoes lined neatly beside the dresser.

He stepped into the living room, furnished with a couch, coffee table, tv stand, and tv, all also second hand. There was a laptop sitting on top of the coffee table, some junk mail addressed to “Current Resident” -- no bills, letters, or cards addressed to Jack himself -- and yesterday’s newspaper already read by the looks of it.

The kitchen and bathroom also yielded no clues, which was probably the biggest clue of all. (Although there was a sickening amount of healthy food in the refrigerator.) What kind of guy lived a completely anonymous life? The same kind of guy that woke up with no idea who he was or where he had come from, save for the dog tags around his neck, one reading Logan, the other Wolverine.

With a heavy sigh, he went back into the bedroom, the scent of sex still heavy in the air, riling him up a little bit but he forced himself to lay down and relax. Settling into bed, he quickly realized just how tired he was; he’d been up for more than twenty-four hours. He just needed to get some sleep and recharge, and maybe in a few hours when he woke up, things would become a little bit clearer

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when Logan opened his eyes, bright shards of light peeking through the curtains, dust motes dancing through sunbeams. He turned to see Jack sleeping on his side, back facing Logan. Pushing the covers down, he followed the contours of Jack’s body with his eyes, the dip of his waist, rise of his hip, the swell of his ass. A sense of propriety and heartache washed over him at the same time, wanting this man to desire him, to love him, knowing he had set himself up for failure the minute he’d stepped into this apartment but unable to help himself, even now.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.

His cock was already hard from morning wood, aching at the sight of Jack lying there vulnerable and unsuspecting, just ready for the taking. He grasped his erection firmly, collecting a bit of iridescent precome and gliding easily up into his fist, stroking himself a few times before he had to have more. Finding the lubricant, he squeezed some onto his fingers, shifted right behind Jack, gripped his shoulder with one hand and slid two fingers right inside with the other. Jack woke immediately, crying out in surprise, again and again as Logan stroked him with his fingers, finding his prostate and pressing against it insistently.

“Logan,” Jack moaned breathlessly, reaching back with one hand to grip Logan’s erection with those long fingers, tugging and stroking, a restless feeling growing in the pit of the old mutant’s belly. He licked all around Jack’s ear, kissed his neck, his shoulder, eyes dropping to see Jack pulling on his own erection, rubbing himself hard and fast.

He withdrew his fingers from Jack’s ass and pushed Jack’s hand out of the way, wrapping his own fingers around the young man’s dick to pump him himself. Still gripping Logan’s member, Jack slid the head right over his hole, painting precome all over it, and when Logan pressed in he almost thought Jack would let him fuck him right there with no protection until the young man pulled away.

“Condom.”

Logan grunted in reluctant agreement, rolling onto his back to reach into the nightstand and quickly put one on. He resumed his position behind Jack, sliding one arm beneath him to hold him tight to his chest, spreading his cheeks with his other hand and aiming his dick right against Jack’s hole before he pushed in hard all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck!” Jack cried out at the unexpected intrusion, body tense. He hissed through his teeth, gripping Logan’s hip hard to hold him back or pull him closer, Logan couldn’t tell; maybe Jack couldn’t either. “Logan, you’re so big.”

“You like a big dick in your ass?” the older man asked, voice rough as he grinded his hips against Jack’s ass, stroking in and out just a little to allow him time to adjust, feeling that hot, tight ass grabbing at his dick, pulling him in deep.

“Yes,” he replied breathlessly. Logan stroked him long and deep, pumping Jack’s dick in time to his thrusts, Jack’s helpless keening and writhing body only serving to heighten his excitement. The younger man’s breathing quickened, the grip on Logan’s hip tightening, signaling he was getting close. Logan came first, pushing all the way in as far as he could, grunting and thrusting with each pulse of his orgasm, once, twice, three times.

Quickly, he pulled out, pushing Jack’s hip down until he lay on his back before shifting between the young man’s legs. He licked a hot stripe from his balls up to the head of his dick, teasing around the sensitive head with his tongue, then swallowed him all the way down. At the same time, he used one hand to tug and massage at his balls, the other holding down the kid’s hips to the mattress to stop him from bucking up. Jack moaned continuously, his fingers gripping Logan’s shoulders, and, already having been close, it didn’t take long before the young man was shooting hot come down Logan’s throat, the older man backing off a bit to catch some on his tongue for a taste.

He growled, releasing Jack’s spent dick and crawling up his body, gripping the back of his head to pull him into a rough kiss, pushing his tongue between those full lips, wanting Jack to taste what Logan had done to him. Jack whimpered softly against Logan’s mouth, his hands sliding up Logan’s back, long fingers gripping his shoulders, strong legs wrapping around Logan’s waist.

They kissed for a long time, the old man enjoying running his hands all over the young, hard body beneath him, enjoying the wandering hands on his own body. Caressing and pinching and tugging, licking and biting and kissing, until they were both hard again, rubbing their dicks together, the feeling like nothing Logan had ever known. He reached down between them, grasping them both firmly and was rewarded with a groan against his ear.

“You’re an amaze -- ” Jack began, the words cutting off in a gasp as Logan reached down further and slipped his middle finger inside Jack’s ass, cupping and massaging his balls with his palm as he did so. It took the younger man a few tries before he finally got the words out. “You’re an amazing kisser.”

Their lips met again, Jack nipping at Logan’s bottom lip before sliding his tongue across it, making Logan hump against him harder, his finger pushed in all the way. And somehow this was more intimate than the fucking they had done before, face to face like this, kissing and touching leisurely, almost lazily, as if they had all the time in the word, just the two of them in this small, cozy bedroom. No X-Men, no students, no raids or military or dead friends and loved ones, no responsibilities, no expectations, no conflicts. No Cyclops, no Wolverine.

Just the bright blue eyes beneath him, long lashes fluttering as the young man arched his back and sighed so softly against Logan’s lips with his orgasm. Logan followed suit, tipping his head back and grunting, feeling soft lips pressing sweet kisses against his chin and jawline.

“Want to get some breakfast?” Jack asked, once they had caught their breath, the two men lying side by side.

“It’s afternoon.”

“Diner serves it all day. What time is it, anyway?”

“One o’clock. You gotta work tonight?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Jack said disdainfully. “In three hours. At least I don’t have to close.” He brightened suddenly. “You can come see me, if you’re still in town.”

“Uh, my shipment got delayed,” Logan said hastily. “I have to stay at least another night.”

“Good for me.” Jack grinned slyly, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow to peer down at Logan. He traced a finger down the center of the older man’s chest, before idly drawing patterns on his skin. Logan caught his hand, bringing it to his mouth to drop a chaste kiss on his fingers, his chest tightening at the bashful smile aimed his way that followed.

* * *

By the time Logan made it back to the hotel in the afternoon, the cell phone that he’d left on the dresser had a dozen missed calls and twice as many text messages. Even the icon for his personal e-mail had two unread messages. Storm and Hank, and surprisingly a couple messages from Kitty begging him to call ’Ro and check in before the weather goddess blew another transformer with an unseasonal lightening storm that had apparently made the news after half the power in the county had gone out.

“Nice to finally hear from you, Logan,” ’Ro greeted as soon as she picked up the phone, her voice even but edged with an impatience usually reserved for naughty school children. When she spoke again, her voice was suddenly full of worry. “You are all right, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responded dismissively.

“Where on earth have you been?” she demanded, switching back into mother hen mode so fast his head spun. “Do you know how long we’ve been trying to get in touch with you? What is going on over there?”

“Relax, would you?” he asked, stretching out on the bed. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed he’d slept in this morning, or as cozy. No fluffy down comforter that smelled like dryer sheets and Jack’s shampoo. “I’ve been busy.”

“Have you found the mutant yet?”

He opened his mouth to speak, debating what to say. _Yes, I found him, and I think it’s Scott Summers. Yes, that Scott Summers, except his memory’s been wiped clean. Oh, and by the way, we fucked about three times between last night and this morning. And, no, he doesn’t know who I am. Why? Because I didn’t tell him. Duh._

Cue lightning storm the likes of Westchester had never seen before.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did. He hasn’t, uh...manifested yet. But he is an adult.”

“How do you know it’s him?”

_“Shit,”_ he mouthed silently to himself, trying to think quickly. “He...smells...like a mutant.”

There was a short pause. “Mutants have a different smell than humans?”

“Yeah.” He said it like everyone should know that.

“Oh. I didn’t know. How do you know he isn’t just hiding his powers? That it isn’t another mutant there somewhere?”

“I’ve been canvassing the town during the day,” he informed her. “It’s a pretty small town. I haven’t run into any other mutants. I mean, I guess I can’t definitively say it isn’t someone living off the grid out in the woods somewhere, but I’ve been following him and he’s shown no signs of any powers, even when he’s alone. There’s some other things that don’t add up, too. I’m pretty sure it’s him, Storm. Just trust me.”

“I do,” she assured him. “Have you made contact with him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I haven’t gotten much further than introductions,” he forced out, ignoring the guilt gnawing at his insides. He rubbed a weary hand over his face. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring up in casual conversation, okay? I’m working on it.”

“I understand. I -- ”

“Look, I’m going to get some sleep, okay?” he interrupted shortly. “I was up all night trying to make nice with the locals, only got a few hours in this morning.”

“Of course,” she said, and now when she spoke her voice was full of mirth. “I know it is quite stressful for you to spend time in civilization for too long. We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

“’Preciate it,” he huffed, then disconnected the call and dropped the phone on the bed. He toed off his boots, two distinct thuds as they hit the floor, before sitting up to pull off his shirt. It smelled like Jack and sex and the warm, down comforter of his bed. Turning onto his stomach, Logan balled the shirt up and laid his head upon it, pressing his face into the fabric and inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes, recalling strong arms around him and tender kisses against his skin and beautiful blue eyes full of yearning focused right on him as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Victor Creed never really looked for trouble. He looked for opportunities. Trouble just seemed to find him along the way. Mostly, he preferred to mind his own business and live quietly, signing up for war when he became too restless, to soothe the urge for blood and violence. After all, picking too many bar fights only got one kicked out of the town in which he lived, if it didn’t land him in jail, and he’d spent enough time in prison cells to understand that even though his time on this earth was indefinite, he still didn’t prefer to waste it behind bars.

It was also really fucking boring.

One such opportunity presented itself on a gust of wind that had traveled all the way from town, through dense forest and up the mountain, right down the river’s edge to where he’d been waiting patiently to catch his dinner. The fish were abundant around here, and tasty, especially when he took the time to cook it, although some days he quite enjoyed feeling it squirm between his incisors as he took the first bite. He’d been about to wrap one large, clawed hand around a nice-sized trout when it hit him: a scent he’d known for over one hundred and fifty years.

Amber-drenched and woody, aged, grounded; like the oldest of redwoods in the forest, a pillar of strength and masculinity. Comforting, familiar, like home. His heart ached and his anger flared in a flash of heat, wondering if his baby brother had finally remembered him and come looking for him, or if this was just another coincidence like the last time they had run into each other. He wouldn’t be surprised at the latter; they always seemed to have a way of finding one another, even after spending years drifting separately through the world, as if they were drawn to each other on the most fundamental level.

Victor couldn’t really hold a grudge against Jimmy for not remembering him when they had last met. Stryker had messed with brain somehow and stolen all of his memories preceding Three Mile Island. Victor knew because Stryker’s men had tried to do him the same way, but he’d just managed to escape by the skin of his teeth. He’d laid low for a long time after that, until he’d gotten mixed up with Magneto and his motley crew of two-bit outcasts. But he’d missed the bloodshed, the excitement of danger, the stink of fear, and figured this was just another opportunity to join an army, fight a war, albeit different from the conventional avenues he was used to.

He’d known Jimmy had gotten mixed up with the girl Magneto had wanted before they’d gone to collect her, but the old man had made him promise to keep his mouth shut. Jimmy’s coincidental addition to the equation was pertinent to Magneto’s plans, his metal-laced bones serving as a cunning distraction, and Sabretooth wasn’t going to ruin his campaign for change based on a thirty-year-old grudge. In return, Victor was supposed to have had his little brother delivered to him on a silver platter, something the Master of Magnetism was supposed to have easily been able to do.

Some plan that had been. All Magneto had managed to do was get him electrocuted by a weather witch, stabbed repeatedly by his amnesiac brother, and blasted out of the sky right into the cold and dirty Hudson River by that pretty boy field leader, the same kid Victor had taken kicking and screaming from his high school all those years ago. He’d never forget the scent of that one, young and fresh and squeaky clean, delicate like a flower ready to be plucked from the earth. It had taken all of his willpower not to rake his claws down that perfect, pale skin, not to sink his teeth into such tender flesh, not to defile and wound and damage.

Different story fifteen years later. The kid no longer afraid of big, bad animals like Sabretooth. Well, he’d see about that next time they ran into each other. In fact, let him get a hand on any of those do-gooder X-Men ever again -- but especially that pretty boy -- and they would see how it ended this time. Slowly. Painfully.

Resolutely, Victor stood from the edge of the riverbank, forgetting his dinner for now. Coincidence or not, the scent of his brother on the wind meant he was nearby, and if Victor was lucky, with his superhero friends. Now, all he had to do was find him.

* * *

The clock on the cheap nightstand read past ten when Logan opened his eyes that evening, eliciting a frustrated groan as he realized he’d slept so late. He’d only intended to get a couple of hours in, but he wasn’t exactly used to staying up all night partying and fucking anymore. Healing factor or not, he was way too old for that shit.

By the time he showered, dressed, and headed out the door, it was nearly eleven. Jack had mentioned he didn’t close that night, but Logan didn’t know what time he was working until. He hoped the kid hadn’t already gone home, and, sure, it wasn’t like Logan didn’t know where he lived, but he _had_ told Jack he was going to come and see him at the bar. What if Jack had been looking for him all night? Would he have been disappointed when Logan didn’t show up? Would he have thought Logan blew him off? That now that he’d gotten into Jack’s pants, he was done with him?

What was worse was imagining Jack not caring at all. Hadn’t the young man admitted to stealing one of Gina’s interests before? Maybe Logan was just another suitor in a long line of boy toys. If he were to leave, would Jack even think about him again at all?

It created an odd feeling in his stomach, worrying about all this stuff. A type of anxiety he wasn’t used to, this fluttering sensation. Restless, he had to find something to do with his hands on the walk over, pulling out a half-smoked cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket and chewing on the end of it almost compulsively. By the time he got to the bar, the damn thing was all bit to hell, and he dumped it forcefully in a trashcan while ignoring the quickening pace of his heart.

The place was just as crowded as it had been the night before. Logan elbowed his way to the bar, eyes searching the entire time. There were two women bartending tonight, Melinda and another blonde he’d never seen before. There were a couple servers tending to booths and tables, but none of them were the man he was looking for.

“He’s out back.” Melinda’s voice, sounding resigned, and when he turned from the crowd to look at her, her expression was carefully blank. He wondered just how much she knew. Maybe after Jack hadn’t returned last night, she’d put two and two together, especially if she’d spoken to Gina.

“Thanks,” he responded with a nod, rapping his knuckles on the countertop once before heading back outside. He slipped down the alley, catching the scent of Jack on a gust of wind zipping through the buildings. The snow had melted during the day under the bright sun, leaving slick walkways made muddy by tracking feet, but it was still damn cold out, and pretty windy too.

Jack was behind the building sitting on top of an upside down milk crate smoking a cigarette, huddled into himself and cursing the cold. He turned upon hearing Logan approach, immediately brightening at the sight of him.

“Hey,” Jack greeted, as Logan squatted down beside him. “Getting a late start tonight?”

“I was a little tired.”

“Somebody must’ve wore you out, huh?” They smiled at one another, Jack’s blue eyes shining as he gazed into Logan’s. “So I’m off in like, thirty minutes. Enough time for you to have a couple drinks. Then you want to head back to my place?”

“Sure.” The young man tipped his head forward, grimacing a little and rubbing one temple with the heel of his hand clutching his cigarette. Logan asked, “Got a headache?”

“Yeah. Just hoping it doesn’t turn into a migraine.”

“You get those often?”

“Once in a while.”

Logan imagined, with the pressure behind his eyes of a force beam that equaled about ten tons of dynamite, trapped there with no place to go, that, yeah, maybe he’d have a headache too. Guilt stabbed at him suddenly, making his stomach lurch, the words hurtling up his throat and over his tongue, his mouth opening, ready to vomit the truth messily all over Scott Summers when he smelled him.

A dark undertone of heat and spice, primal, like bright fire in the darkness of the wilderness at night. Malevolent and dangerous, pumping pheromones, making the hair on the back of Logan’s neck rise and sending a restless crawling feeling up his back. Agitating him, provoking the animal inside of him.

Sabretooth. The seven-foot-tall hermit all those kids had been talking about. What was he doing here? The same reason Logan had traveled all the way to Fox City? For the kid standing beside him? What did he want him for? He had to have been working for someone, someone who knew Scott was here. But how would they have known? A powerful telepath, maybe? Or someone else who had access to a machine like Cerebro, like the government.

With too many questions to answer and too many possibilities to consider, Logan stood up, his eyes quickly scanning the edges of the surrounding forest, body tense, ready.

“Logan?” Jack asked tentatively, standing as well, looking around in an attempt to see what had Logan so distracted. “What is it?”

“You need to go inside,” he warned in a low tone, eyes still searching.

“What? Why?”

Logan extended his claws quickly, the SNIKT sound of metal through flesh and the flash of silver in the streetlight startling Jack so much he staggered backwards, dropping his cigarette in the process. He turned to the young man, who was breathing hard, eyes wide and focused on the deadly claws, scent emanating fear.

“Go!” the older man ordered, his voice nearly a growl, but he wanted to scare the stupid kid inside before he got himself killed. Martial arts skills or not, without his force beams Jack was just a useless, vulnerable human against an invincible, crazed maniac like Sabretooth. “Now! And don’t come out no matter what you hear!”

Jack hastily stumbled away, rushing into the back door and slamming it closed behind him as Logan took a few steps forward, fists raised, claws fully extended.

“Where are you, Sabretooth?” he bellowed into the trees. “I know you’re there, I can smell ya. You stink worse than rotting roadkill.”

“I see you found me, little brother,” came a deep, mocking voice from the woods. Sabretooth emerged from behind a tree to lean against it, examing his claws casually. Golden eyes looked up, flashing dangerously as they met Logan’s, devious grin revealing sharp incisors. “Took you long enough.”

“We ain’t brothers, and I wasn’t looking for you,” Logan stated. “What are you doing here?”

There was something in Sabretooth’s eyes for just a fraction of a second that looked like hurt and regret, and then it was gone, the sneer back on his face. “I see you still haven’t gotten your memories back. No reminiscing about old times for us then, eh?”

“You’re not my brother,” Logan ground out fiercely, then reconsidered. “Doesn’t that seem like something you would have mentioned the last time we ran into each other?”

“Magneto told me to keep my mouth shut,” he responded. “He needed you for his plan. When we were done, you were supposed to be my payment.”

Regardless of whether or not this man was his brother, it didn’t seem like the guy was here to make up for lost time over a friendly drink.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, bub,” Logan threatened, pointing with his claws. “What are you doing here?”

“Come on, Jimmy,” he responded cordially, Logan’s ears perking up at the unfamiliar name. Jimmy. James. His name was James? An image of a woman calling his name flashed into his mind, wearing a long, flared dress and curls in her hair, scolding him for not taking his muddy shoes off before entering the house. Another image, a boy a little older than him keeping him company in his bedroom, smiling at him and there were those teeth, sharp and white and wicked. With great difficulty, Logan tried to ignore the swirling of emotions overwhelming him and focus on the dangerous mutant before him, who was now steadily approaching.

“Can’t a guy just come into town for a drink?” he continued. “Everybody needs some company once in a while, even me. You know, that boy of yours sure is pretty. I could smell you all over him.”

Logan growled, dropping low into a fighting stance. “I don’t share.”

Sabretooth smiled, incisors sharp and terrifying. “I know you don’t remember, but I never had a problem taking your stuff.”

They ran at each other full speed, Logan upright right growling, Sabretooth on all fours and snarling, crashing into one another right at the edge of the parking lot. Logan’s claws sunk into Sabretooth’s chest, eliciting a howl from the other mutant, whose arms were wrapped around Logan tight, bright pain arcing through Logan’s back as claws shredded his jacket, shirt, skin, muscles. They went tumbling into the muddy ground, Logan landing on top before he pulled one of his hands back, sheathing his claws to punch Sabretooth firmly in the jaw with a strong metal-reinforced fist, effectively shattering his bones.

Sabretooth kicked him off and forward, flipping him onto his back. Quickly, Logan rolled and sprang to his feet, brandishing his claws as he watched Sabretooth’s jaw shift back into place, the seeping wounds in his chest drying up and closing within seconds. Cracking his neck, Sabretooth smiled menacingly, clawed hands open and beckoning him closer.

“Come on, little brother,” he sneered. “That the best you got?”

Logan roared as he shot forward, moving in low with one fist, claws extended and sweeping upwards into Sabretooth’s stomach, eviscerating him. The older mutant cried out in agony, blood and intestines spilling out between tender flesh, but it barely slowed him down. He gripped Logan’s shoulders with both hands, claws sinking in, swinging him around and throwing him effortlessly into the side of the heavy metal dumpster. Logan hit the ground, the wind escaping his lungs, head spinning, barely giving him time to stand as the other man was rushing towards him at full speed.

Sabretooth smashed his shoulder squarely into Logan’s chest, slamming him against the dumpster, into it, the sound of metal groaning resounding in the air as the dumpster dented and warped beneath Logan’s weight and Sabretooth’s strength. Vainly, Logan pushed forward but he couldn’t seem to worm his way out from between the dumpster and the other mutant. As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary; Sabretooth grabbed him by the lapels of his nearly shredded jacket, pulling him forward and tossing him through the air. He landed hard against the side of a car, the window exploding upon impact, shards of glass raining down upon Logan as he collapsed to the concrete.

Blinking hard, he tried to regain his bearings, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog from his brain. Sabretooth was running his way on all fours, legs pumping and hands pulling him along. Logan waited until the other mutant was nearly upon him before he slipped under the car, listening to the sounds of Sabretooth crashing into the side of it, feeling the car shift above him followed by a frustrated roar.

He crawled out from beneath the undercarriage, unprepared to feel the car ram into him, Sabretooth moving it bodily from the other side. It hit him hard, sliding against him, too fast and unexpected for him to try to push back. The car forced him up against an SUV, crushing him, unrelenting on both sides as the other mutant thrust the heavy metal vehicle into him. One of Logan’s arms was trapped between the two cars, the other swiping at anything he could manage, but Sabretooth was too far to reach; he only ended up fruitlessly shredding the hood of the car and smashing the front windshield.

His ribs were breaking, caving in, adamantium and bones piercing his lungs, his stomach, liver, the metal of the car crushing his intestines, breaking his spine. His vision was flickering in and out, edges graying as he fought hard to hold on to consciousness. He glanced up, Sabretooth’s face contorted in rage, teeth bared, claws clutching the car so hard they pierced right through the metal, unstoppable.

His eyes fluttered closed right as the gunshot rang out, Sabretooth’s body sliding out of view to reveal Jack standing behind him with a shotgun in his hands. The last, fleeting thought he had was to warn the dumb kid about Sabretooth’s healing factor, but the words just wouldn’t come as his world faded to black.

* * *

After running inside when Logan had brandished those claws and scared the shit out of him, Jack stood behind the closed door and forced himself to shake off his initial fear and take a moment to try to process what the hell he had just witnessed. A mutant, that’s what Logan had to have been with those huge metal knives shooting out of his hands like that. But he hadn’t been threatening Jack with them; rather, something Jack couldn’t see had been threatening Logan, or maybe Jack himself, or both of them. One thing was clear, Logan had been trying to protect him.

He glanced down the hallway leading to the back door, the bustle of the busy bar only a few yards away. All those innocent people in there, and he was just going to leave Logan out there as the only thing standing between them and whatever it was that was in the woods? Jack might not have known much about himself, but he knew he wasn’t a coward.

Quickly, he ran to the back office where the owner kept his shotgun in case of any robberies. He slammed the door open before grabbing the gun off the rack on the wall, rummaging through the desk drawer for some shotgun shells, then flew back down the hallway towards the back door.

“Jack, what the fuck?” Melinda shrieked at the sight of the gun in his hands, an unlit cigarette stuck in her mouth. She must have been about to go outside for a smoke; thank God he’d caught her in time.

“Call the police,” he instructed, his voice as cool as steel. “Don’t come out back. There’s a fight.”

“You can’t go out there, you idiot!” she cried after him. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I said call the police, Mel! Don’t let anyone out back!”

“Okay!” she relented, before scurrying out of sight.

He cracked the door open to see Logan fighting off some huge, vicious beast of a man wrapped in fur pelts, fingers adorned with large claws, teeth as sharp as a lion’s. They were tearing each other apart, blood flying, both men roaring like animals. With a gasp, he startled backwards, the door slamming shut in his own face.

“Shit,” he breathed, heart pounding. “Holy shit.” Then forced himself to calm down. “Okay. Okay.”

Checking the gun to be sure it was loaded, cocked, and ready, he took a few deep breaths before swinging the door open, finding that...man pushing a car into Logan’s chest as if the thing was as light as a Matchbox toy car, crushing him against another vehicle, killing him. Logan was flailing with one metal-clawed hand, his movements slowing, barely any time for Jack to rush up behind the crazed, roaring maniac and pull the trigger before he was dead.

The man crumpled immediately, sliding down the side of the car to land on his side on the ground, facing the car. His back was a bloody mess from the buckshot, blood pooling down around him and staining the concrete. Jack stood breathing hard, shotgun braced against his shoulder, muzzle aimed at the massive brute lying on the ground and finger right on the trigger, poised to shoot again, but the man wasn’t moving. A moment passed, then two, and when the man made no move to get up, Jack dropped the shotgun and ran to Logan, still trapped between two cars.

“Logan!” he shouted, climbing up on the hood the car. The vehicles were crushed so close together, Jack couldn’t even see the side of Logan’s body, just the top part of him that was slumped forward, head on the roof of the car, one arm outstretched towards the other side. The claws Jack had seen earlier were nowhere in sight, the knuckles of his hand unblemished, as if those long, metal blades had never been there in the first place.

“Logan?” he said again, tentatively this time. His eyes were closed, face scratched and bloody, a huge gash across his forehead revealing muscle and what looked like a sliver of shiny silver where bone should have been. He was pale and unmoving and Jack couldn’t tell if he was breathing. “Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ.”

He froze, watching with wide, bewildered eyes as the gash above Logan’s eye began to close up, layers of muscle and tissue rebuilding, skin stretching together until all that remained was perfect, unblemished skin and dried blood.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, as more cuts and bruises began to heal right before his eyes, Logan murmuring unintelligibly, and for a moment Jack couldn’t breathe he was so shocked.

A shadow rose above him, so fast he barely had time to turn around. The other mutant, right behind him, snarling with flexed claws outstretched. The man swiped a large, bloodied hand at him, Jack reflexively dodging it and sliding off the roof of the car to land hard on the concrete. Hastily, he climbed to his feet, searching for an escape but there were only two options: the bar or the woods, and he couldn’t bring this animal into a room full of unsuspecting drunks.

He darted into the woods, as fast as he could go, the roar resounding behind him so loud it vibrated in his bones. Running, running, legs pumping, lungs burning, snaking through the trees and jumping over fallen logs, branches and vines whipping at his face and clawing at his bare arms. The beast was right behind him, wood cracking beneath the heavy footfalls of his pursuer, growling and snarling the whole time, so close Jack swore he could feel the spittle on the back of his neck.

He just had to get away, as far as he could, running until he couldn’t hear the mutant anymore, just the sounds of his own heavy breathing. Finally, he paused, sliding behind a large tree and leaning back against it to catch his breath, his fingers clutching at the rough bark. For a moment, he held his breath and listened, but all he heard was the sounds of the woods around him. Carefully, he leaned to his right, peering around the tree but the mutant was nowhere in sight.

He let out a relieved sigh, turning back right into the snarling face of his adversary. He cried out in surprise before a large hand covered his mouth, the stink of damp fur invading his nostrils as the beast’s body bore down on him and pressed him into the tree. Jack struggled to get away, but the mutant was just too strong, crushing his jaw in his hand so hard the young man was sure it would break.

The mutant turned Jack’s face to one side, stepping even closer to sniff right against his neck like a true animal. The young man jerked away as a warm, wet tongue lapped right at his rabbit-fast pulsepoint, but froze as sharp teeth pressed against his tender flesh, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to hurt.

“You smell like nothing I’ve ever smelled before,” he murmured frighteningly. “Sweet. Fresh. New. Like Jimmy, but we can fix that. Pretty, too. Look at those eyes.”

And then the hand at his jaw shifted over his eyes mockingly, the mutant chuckling low in his throat as he did so. Jack nearly panicked at not being able to see anything, this huge creature looming over him, flush to his body, hot breath against his face, and then suddenly the amused laughing stopped, the beast frozen still.

A feeling of dread overwhelmed him. He almost asked what was wrong before the brute suddenly growled in rage, one hand at Jack’s throat, claws painfully scratching at his skin as strong fingers squeezed hard. The other was in Jack’s hair, gripping cruelly. He pulled the young man forward before slamming him back up against the tree, knocking the breath out of him. His feet barely touched the ground as the mutant choked him and aimed his face away.

“You little shit!” the maniac yelled, Jack gripping at the man’s wrists in an effort to ease the tension on his neck, gasping for any small amount of air he could get. “You think I wouldn’t recognize you without that visor, Cyclops? I don’t know how you fixed your eyes, but I do know one thing.” He leaned in close to Jack’s ear, licking all around it before pushing his tongue inside, Jack squirming futilely. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you apart.”

* * *

Logan woke to the worried expressions of a couple of fresh-faced paramedics, their eyes wide and disbelieving, the scent of fear rolling off of them in waves. He was lying on the ground, the mangled remains of the two cars on either side of him, and as he sat up and looked around, he supposed maybe those expressions were warranted. He must have been found in pretty bad shape if the pools of blood surrounding him meant anything, punctuated with shards of glass and twisted metal.

He reached behind him, grasping at a large piece of shrapnel buried deep into his hip and grunting as he gave it a good tug to dislodge it from his insides. One of the paramedics gasped before he staggered backwards, the other fainting right there on the spot. Logan dropped the metal rod to the concrete with an echoing thud, standing and flexing his muscles for a minute to make sure everything was in the right place.

Looking around, there were quite a few patrons gathered at the back door watching raptly, appearing as equally as shaken as the paramedics had been, as well as a couple police officers warily regarding him with their hands resting against the guns at their hips, but no one made a move towards him as he turned and made haste into the woods.

The trail was still fresh, no blood, at least not yet. He followed the bright and clean scent of Jack, fear and adrenaline heavy in the air, nearly stifled by the stinking scent of Sabretooth, wild and unrestrained, excited by the chase like a dog after a spooked rabbit. Broken branches and disturbed underbrush made the two men easier to track, Logan navigating through the trees and wondering what the fuck Jack had been thinking.

Really, it was an easy guess. He must have run into the woods to lead Sabretooth away from the people in the bar, the stupid kid. Brave, but stupid, and if there had been any question in Logan’s mind that Jack wasn’t Scott Summers, selfless Field Leader of the X-Men, this instinct to protect the innocent had definitely extinguished any lingering doubts.

Their scents were concentrated around a tree nearly two miles from the bar. Damn, the kid could run, although he supposed shouldn’t be surprised considering how strong those legs had felt wrapped around his waist earlier this morning. Pushing aside completely inappropriate thoughts to be having at a time like this, Logan circled the tree and found sharp spikes of fear and pain, alarmingly intermingled with the reeking stench of arousal.

Logan’s jaws were working against one another so hard he was sure his teeth would turn to calcium dust. Not sure if they would actually regenerate, he forced himself to take a deep breath before he did something rash, began counting down from a hundred, realized that was way too fucking long when Scott’s much too pretty face was God knew where with Logan’s depraved psychopath brother, stopped at 99, and started running as fast as he could in the direction the trail continued in, hoping to God he made it in time before Scott became Logan’s brother-in-law.

* * *

He had been unexpectedly born six months ago on the rocky shores of a lake in Alberta, Canada. The weather had been overcast that day with a chill in the air. No food, no shelter. Not the ideal conditions for a delivery, but he supposed he wasn’t exactly a typical newborn. Abandoned on the rough terrain, naked and defenseless, he’d remained on the cold, hard ground until mercy came to him in the form of an old, weathered hunter, who wrapped him in a thermal blanket and carefully tucked him into the passenger’s seat of his truck.

From there, the hunter had driven him to his friend’s cabin nearby, a doctor he trusted that he thought could help. A veterinarian, actually, but people and animals basically had the same parts, just maybe packaged a little differently, and the hospital was much too far and full of money hungry pill pushers anyway. So he remained in the care of the able veterinarian, a forty-something man with a kind face and sad eyes, handsome in a rugged kind of way with dark hair and a beard that was mostly white.

“Hello,” the man had said, perched beside him in an armchair reading a book, peering at him worriedly over a pair of reading glasses. “I’m Jeremy Wilson. Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please,” he’d rasped, his voice gravelly, unused. He’d gratefully accepted the tall glass, allowing the other man to help him sit up as he gulped down mouthfuls of water before he realized he had no idea what he was doing there or where he was. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my cabin,” the older man had responded, then grinned wryly. “I suppose that doesn’t really help. My friend found you out by Alkali Lake. You were unconscious. He brought you to me thinking I could help. I’m a doctor. Well -- veterinarian. Do you remember what happened?”

His brow knotted as he tried desperately to recall any detail leading up to this very moment in this stranger’s bed, breath quickening as panic crept up on him. Nothing. There was nothing, like trying to remember what had happened before you were born. It just wasn’t there.

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, smiling gently. “It’s all right. This is common with patients with head traumas. Why don’t we start with your name?”

“I…” he began, his voice catching in his throat. He looked up with wide eyes the color of the sky. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”

“Let’s try something else,” Dr. Wilson continued. “How about the year? Do you know what year it is?” He shook his head. “The name of the president?”

“You’re not understanding me,” he said, his voice full of anguish. “I don’t remember _anything_.”

“It’ll come back to you. Don’t worry. In the mean time, we’ll have to call you something,” the doctor had said, his smile soft. “Usually the hospitals go with John Doe. But you look more like a Jack to me.”

Dr. Wilson had assured him his memory would return to him, probably in bits and pieces, and not in the correct order, but that it would come back. So he stayed in the cabin in the mean time, cooking and cleaning, fixing up the yard and making repairs, anything to feel useful. He liked running, something he must have done before because he could do it easily, sometimes running for miles and miles to clear his head. Which sounded strange when there was nothing in there except an expanse of blank canvas where his previous life should be, but he could get into a sort of trance where he just ran and ran with no thoughts, no anxiety, just his feet on the ground and the air in his lungs.

There were other things too he knew instinctively, things he couldn’t remember learning but were there. All of the math in the old college textbooks on Dr. Wilson’s bookshelf was a breeze, even things Dr. Wilson said were advanced. If a repair needed to be done, he would always know what supplies he needed without having to ask or look it up. And somehow he knew exactly how to take apart the old, broken motorcycle hidden under a tarp in the backyard and put it back together in working order. (Although, even though he’d fixed it, Dr. Wilson hadn’t exactly been pleased when he’d caught him one afternoon sitting in the center of the tarp with the entire bike in pieces around him.)

Weeks went by, a month, and his mind was still a complete and utter blank. He wasn’t sure if Dr. Wilson believed him; he said it was unheard of for a patient to never recover any memories at all. Maybe he thought Jack was hiding from something, or someone. Maybe he was right, in a way. The idea of searching for his past, essentially searching for a stranger, for someone he didn’t even know -- it was too big. Where did he start? Where would he end up? What if he didn’t like the answers he found? What if there were no answers at all?

Regardless, the doctor never pushed, never asked him to leave. They fell into a routine, eating together, working together on the house, drinking expensive whiskey late into the night in front of the fireplace, and not having to say anything in order to enjoy each other’s company. Dr. Wilson was kind, maybe a little lonely, and not too bad to look at. And for a while Jack thought they could just live this way together.

Until the day the doctor told him winter would be coming soon, and it was time for him to lock up for the season and go back into town. Gently, he suggested that perhaps this was a good time for them to part ways, and for Jack to try to find out where he had come from and what had happened to him. For one wild, fleeting moment he almost begged Dr. Wilson to take him with him, the thought of being truly alone generating a crippling fear, but the older man must have seen the terror in his eyes, because he smiled in that way he had, telling Jack he would always be there when Jack needed a friend without him having to even ask.

He wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up in a place like Fox City. It was only supposed to have been a temporary stop on his way to a bigger town like Edmonton where he might be able to gather some information, but the longer he stayed, the more comfortable he got. Six months later and here he was, working at a bar with his friends, eating at the same diner every day, finding comfort in living in a small town where everyone knew his name.

Well, _now_ he wasn’t there. _Now_ he was blindfolded and bound at both his wrists and ankles by strips of fur pelts that his current company had sliced from his own attire with his sharp claws to create. He was gagged too, a dirty rag stuffed in his mouth before another pelt had been tied around his face to keep it there. The beast was strong, lugging him around the waist by just one large, hairy arm, dragging him through the forest almost effortlessly. Jack’s heart was pounding in his chest, so hard he was sure the mutant could hear it, trying to keep a cool head and find a way out of this but so far there were no options presenting themselves. Everytime he struggled, the brute would just sock him in the stomach or knock him roughly in the head. It was hard enough breathing around this disgusting gag, and he definitely didn’t want to be rendered unconscious. God knew where he would wake up.

The words the maniac was muttering in an almost compulsive way didn’t make controlling his fear any easier. Things about slicing off strips of his skin and licking the blood from his wounds, about cutting up his pretty face with those razor claws and gouging out his new eyes, about propping up his battered and used body in the front yard with a large stick up his ass when he was finished with him, excited by the idea of watching him slide down slowly until he was fully impaled, wondering how long it would take him to die but hoping it wouldn’t be quick.

The further into the woods they traveled, the more the terror grew inside of his chest. It was wrapping itself around his heart like a tangle of vines, tightening and tightening as he began to realize he was going to die, but not before being raped and tortured and torn limb from limb. Fuck, he had to get out of this, he had to get out of this, he had to --

He was suddenly aware of a change in the terrain, the woods opening up to a clearing, the sound of running water nearby, and then the mutant was pulling him up a couple of wooden stairs and a door was opening, warm air immediately hitting him. A cabin, they were in his cabin and he was about to die and no one was coming to save him.

He began struggling as hard as he could, screaming, the gag muffling his cries. The mutant threw him to the ground hard, Jack landing on his back and on top of his bound arms, head painfully caroming off the floor. The beast was on top of him in a flash, hot breath and spittle against Jack’s cheek as he roared ferociously.

“I’ve been waiting fifteen years for this,” the mutant said. “Since I first saw you at your school. You smelled so good when I chased you, and, God, when I caught you, you have no idea how much it took for me not to take a bite. I bet you taste as good as you smell.”

Jack’s tee shirt was suddenly ripped at the collar, exposing tender flesh, and then sharp teeth were right where his neck met his shoulder, clamping down hard. A sharp flash of pain pulled a scream from him as warm blood dripped down his shoulder, his chest, and he tried to twist away but the beast was too strong.

Teeth extracted themselves from his flesh, the mutant humming with approval as he licked all around the pulsing wound. “Better than I even imagined. We’re going to have a lot of fun together, Cyclops. More fun than you had with Jimmy, I promise you.”

The weight was removed from him, large hands lifting him by his shoulders and throwing him against the wall. He slammed into it before hitting the floor, the wind knocked out of him and he couldn’t breathe through the gag, he couldn’t see, he was -- God, he was going to die. Heavy footfalls approached, Jack bracing himself, and then a hand was in his hair, dragging him across the room, his body hitting what was probably a table or a chair along the way.

“Were you looking for me?” the beast asked as they paused, his hand still holding fast to Jack’s hair to pull him into a sitting position. He must have knelt down because the next time he spoke his voice was right in front of Jack’s face. “Is that what you and Jimmy are doing here?”

A quick slap to Jack’s face, but Jack wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. Either the other man didn’t care he couldn’t speak or didn’t realize he was still gagged, too distracted with his glee in tormenting him. Not that Jack had an answer anyway. He was beginning to piece together that Jimmy was Logan, but not sure if it was just his first name or if Logan had lied about his identity. He didn’t know why Logan would lie to him, unless he had also known Jack before he’d lost his memory like this savage seemed to, and if that was the case, what did Logan have to gain from lying to him? The questions were innumerable, the conclusions just as plenty, and right now wasn’t exactly the time to ponder any of them.

“No X-Men to help you out of this one, eh?” the mutant growled, before grabbing his jaw and licking a hot stripe across his cheek. “Your little redheaded bitch made sure of that. All you got left is Jimmy now, and I think we took care of him.”

Jack’s brain continued moving a thousand miles a minute in twenty different directions. X-Men. Cyclops. Redhead. Alcatraz, it had been all over the news for weeks, the battle between mutants there, hundreds of articles and newscasts featuring Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters in New York state, detailing the headmaster’s sudden and unexpected death, and the death his daughter, the redhead, and his -- and his _son_. Scott. The man with the red sunglasses, with the laser beams for eyes. God, he’d seen him on TV! Seen -- seen himself, and he hadn’t even recognized him.

Scott. He was Scott Summers. Cyclops, leader of the X-Men.

And now he was going to die.

Strong hands pulled him up, dragging him until his legs hit the edge of something before he was deposited on to it, the landing soft. A bed. Before he could even consider the implication, the beast flipped him over, pushing his face into the mattress with a large hand on the back of his head.

“You fucked me twice, little boy,” he growled into his ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

Scott couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this. He kicked and screamed and struggled as his shirt was ripped open, clawed hands raking their way down his back, scraping over his delicate flesh, sharp and unforgiving. He could feel the blood beading up over his skin, followed by a flat, hot tongue and the pleased grunts of his captor. Then hands were pulling at his jeans, claws shredding the fabric, sharp teeth biting into the tender flesh of his ass, incisors drawing more blood that was eagerly licked away.

The beast was growling now, hungry, the taste of blood and the stink of fear pushing him to the edge. Wrapping a bulky arm around Scott’s waist and pulling his hips up in the air, a bruising slap landed hard against his ass once, twice, fingers gripping his cheek ruthlessly, nails digging in deep. Hot tears leaked from the corners of Scott’s eyes, absorbed by the blindfold.

No. Please, no. Somebody had to help him, somebody had to save him, so he could get back home. He just wanted to go home.

And then a heavy body was pressing down on his, smothering him with the stink of fur and sweat, and Jesus Christ there was an impossibly huge erection pushing against the back of his bare thighs, hot and solid and insistent.

* * *

Logan was running. Long strides, claws out, hacking through branches and trees as if they were made of papier-mache. He could smell them close by, Scott’s fresh and clean scent tainted with tears and blood and pain, even those tantalizing in their innocence. Coupled with Sabretooth’s reeking stench of excitement and arousal, growing stronger and stronger the further he traveled. He didn’t want to be too late, don’t let him be too late, and then he smelled smoke. Wood. Fire. A wood stove.

A cabin! There, right in front of him through a small clearing, the tiny window dimly lit. Legs pumping, arms swinging, Logan released a thunderous roar, never breaking his stride as he turned his shoulder towards the door and crashed right through it. The wooden frame splintered all around him, the door flying right off the hinges and into the small home.

Sabretooth was bent over a blindfolded, bound and gagged Scott Summers, the kid’s clothes torn to shreds, the porcelain skin of his back and ass not faring much better. Blood stained Scott’s skin, the bed sheets, the hands and face of the beast on the bed. Logan couldn’t tell if the young man was conscious; he couldn’t tell if he was even alive.

“Get off him, you fucking animal!” Logan yelled, his voice raw with a berserker rage so barely contained his body trembled with it, simmering like a shaken soda bottle ready to burst. Sabretooth sprang up, snarling furiously at the interruption, and thank God Logan had seemed to have gotten there just in the nick of time.

“He’s mine!” the other mutant bellowed, and then he was hurtling forward. Logan couldn’t see anything but red, the Wolverine taking over all thought processes. Ruthlessly, he lunged forward, claws outstretched, one sweeping up into Sabretooth’s gut, the other slashing right across his neck. Arterial blood splashed across Logan’s face, spilled onto the floor from the wound in the other man’s gut. The beast tried to howl but all that came up was a bubbling, gurgling sound from his open neck, his head barely attached.

Sabretooth’s claws dug into his back but he didn’t even feel it as he tackled the brute to the ground, straddling him, relentless as he slashed and slashed without regret. Skin and muscle and bone shredded like confetti beneath the onslaught of adamantium and wild, animalistic rage, Sabretooth writhing beneath him, roaring and spitting, and then he was whining, high pitched and pleading, a wounded dog begging for mercy, but there was none to be found. Not here, not tonight.

Logan was still swinging long after Sabretooth stopped moving, clawed fists buried deep into the other mutant’s chest. Slowly, the present came back to him as the fog of blinding rage lifted from his vision, his movements stilling as he realized it was done. With great effort, Logan drew his claws in and shakily stood up, his fists dripping with the spilled blood of his adversary, chest still heaving. The mutant on the floor was unrecognizable, bloodied and split open and unmoving. Already, he could see the tissue rebuilding, muscle pulling together, and he wasted no time grabbing Sabretooth by the ankles and dragging him outside, leaving a trail of blood and bones in his wake.

Once out on the front porch, he surveyed the area, eyes settling on the nearby riverbank. The water was deep and the current fast, the river winding through the mountains as far as he could see. He pulled Sabretooth through the brush, mustered all of his strength and hauled him into the river, clear water staining with a billowing cloud of red. He nearly lost his footing in the process and almost got pulled into the current right along with the bastard, but managed to keep his balance, watching the large, limp body tumble past rocks and down the stream until he was out of sight.

His let out a deep sigh, wading back to shore and trudging through the dense foliage back to the cabin, pausing in the doorway to find the bed empty. The scent of fear and desperation wafted towards him from the corner of the room, Logan cautiously circling the bed to see Scott huddled on the floor, breathing hard through his nose as he desperately tugged at his bindings. Hastily, Logan crashed to his knees before the other man, reaching for the blindfold but Scott jerked away at the unexpected touch, tumbling back into the wall with a dull thud.

“Hey, it’s me,” he gently called. “It’s Logan. I’m just going to untie you, all right?”

Although Scott remained stock still as Logan cautiously reached for the blindfold, the kid’s body was practically vibrating he was trembling so badly. It took some effort to get it untied; Sabretooth had tied the damn thing so tight and got it all caught in his hair. He tugged it off to reveal wide eyes bright with a kind of terror Logan had never seen before, then realized what he must look like, covered in blood and torn clothing, sure that did nothing to ease Scott’s fears.

Wary eyes watched him as he reached for the young man’s face and pulled the gag away, before he helped ease the dirty rag out of the kid’s mouth the fucker had stuffed in there before tying a strip of pelt around his face. Scott jumped when Logan slipped out one claw, different emotions flitting across his face: fear, dread, and then something akin to resignation, followed by an almost exasperation -- as if to ask, _what else?_

Logan held up his hands, expression open and kind. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m just going to untie you,” he said, and then used his claw to first cut away the binds at his ankles, then his wrists, and only when Logan reached out to touch his shoulder with a reassuring hand did the young man scramble back into the corner, eyes averted, hands up in self-defense.

_“Don’t touch me!”_ he shouted, voice cracking with emotion. “Don’t. Just don’t...touch me.”

“Scott -- ” The young man glanced up sharply, expression shocked and disbelieving and -- _shit._

“You know my _name?_ ” His voice was high pitched, edged with hysteria, the tears welling in his eyes threatening to fall. “I’ve been wandering around for six months -- _six months!_ And you knew this whole -- ? You _knew?”_

“Wait,” Logan pleaded. “Please, I can explain.”

“You _lied_ to me! You _lied_ to me!”

“I came for you!” Logan cried desperately. “I came to bring you home! I just -- I wasn’t sure! Please, you can trust me.”

_“Don’t.”_ The word spoken brokenly, raw as it was pulled from the deepest part of his chest. And then the tears did fall, fierce blue eyes reflecting the hurt and betrayal and torment, worse than any pain Sabretooth could have ever caused. “Just stay away from me.”

Scott jumped to his feet, over the bed and across the cabin and out the door, and maybe Logan should have followed him so he could explain himself, but as he sat down on the floor of the cabin and leaned his head back against the wall, he couldn’t for the life of him think of a damned thing to say.

* * *

Tail between his legs, Logan slowly slunk back to his motel room with the devastating certainty of one thing: he’d fucked up. He knew that as sure as he knew the sky was blue, grass was green, and that Storm was going to have his ass for a lightening rod. That is, if Hank didn’t get to him first, and Logan wasn’t sure that his limbs would regenerate after being torn from his body.

Thankfully, the town had still been sleeping quietly by the time he’d slunk back to his room at nearly dawn. He hadn’t wanted to alarm any of the locals looking the way he did all bloodied with his clothes ripped to shreds, and after last night’s spectacle in the parking lot, he was sure every single resident in this place knew who -- or at least what -- he was, and would recognize him immediately and call the cops on sight. Not exactly the display of discretion Storm had been hoping for.

Once in his room, he showered and changed, then sat wearily on the bed, eyeing his bag longingly. He wanted nothing more than to just grab his stuff and get the hell out of there, because running was what he knew -- he was an expert at it, in fact -- but he owed it to a lot of people to figure out how to fix this, some of whom weren’t even alive. So he couldn’t just leave. Not without Scott.

As he rose from the bed and headed towards the door, he cursed the day he ever got mixed up with these do-gooder nerds and grew himself a conscience.

First thing’s first, he had to find Scott. He crossed town to the old antique shop, careful to avoid any early risers on the way. Standing at the bottom of the staircase and gazing up at the dark windows, his nose immediately picked up the tang of blood and the salt of tears, intermingled with despair and self-loathing. Regret gripped Logan’s heart as tightly as his hand gripped the railing, the metal groaning beneath the power of adamantium.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, but he could tell Scott had already been there and left; he couldn’t smell anyone inside. Figuring he was already on the kid’s bad side and that there wasn’t much further he could fall, he popped one claw and slid it across the deadbolt like butter, then turned the knob and opened the door.

Logan stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He passed the bathroom, water still condensating on the tile walls and mirror from a recent hot shower. It smelled like the kid had washed about a hundred times, and his heart ached to imagine Scott in there scrubbing furiously, desperately washing away blood and tears and the sticky lingering sweat and arousal of Sabretooth, again and again until his skin was pink and raw.

Performing a cursory search of the place, he noticed toiletries missing from the bathroom -- toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, etc. The laptop was missing as well, along with some clothes from the dresser in the bedroom. Disappointingly, there was no indication anywhere of where the kid had gone.

He left the apartment, circling around back and finding the bloody clothes Scott had been wearing when he’d fled the cabin in a black trashbag buried deep in the dumpster, his nose leading him to it. After that, he had no fucking idea where to look next.

Damnit, he couldn’t lose Scott now, and he cursed himself for taking so much time getting back into town and cleaned up, for the time wasted licking his own wounds in the motel room and feeling sorry for himself when he should have raced right over here.

Resigned, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked back to the motel, sulking the whole way and ignoring any stares from wary locals. He realized now that he had no choice but to call in the reinforcements, which meant calling Storm and admitting every stupid thing he’d done leading up to this moment. It also meant that he was really going to get to test the limits of his healing factor, because the minute she laid eyes on him, she was most assuredly going to try to kill him.

So absorbed in his self-flagellation, he didn’t even see or smell the kid until he was practically on top of him. Scott was sitting down on a bench outside of the motel, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. There was a backpack sitting near his feet, stuffed full with what Logan assumed were the items missing from his apartment. The early dawn light was catching his chestnut hair just so, and Logan took a moment to admire his profile: straight nose, square jaw, high cheekbones. Some bruises, a little worse for wear, but still beautiful. Scott glanced up then, blue, blue eyes meeting Logan’s gaze before he stood up, all long lines and smooth planes, looking angry, hurt, gorgeous.

God, he was gorgeous, and Logan was a fool.

“Hey,” Logan began awkwardly, raking a hand through his wiry hair.

“Hey,” the other man responded, just as nervous. “I remember you said you were staying here, but I didn’t know what room you were in. I would’ve asked the girl up front, but I wasn’t sure what your name was, so I just thought...I don’t know.”

“It’s Logan,” he said quickly. “My name’s Logan.” He hesitated. “It might be Jimmy, I don’t know. I’ve got a few gaps in my memory too.”

Scott considered Logan for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Did the same thing that happened to me happen to you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you know what happened to me?”

“No.”

Scott glanced away, jaw working hard as he eyed the sidewalk. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know,” the older man admitted regretfully as he cautiously took a few steps closer. “At first I wasn’t sure it was you.” At Scott’s dubious look, he quickly added, “You look different. You always had these glasses on -- ”

“The red ones.”

“Yes!” Logan exclaimed, nodding emphatically in agreement. “You had to keep them on all the time.”

“Because of the lasers.”

“They’re not lasers,” he corrected automatically, rolling his eyes at the irony of having to correct Scott over his own biggest pet peeve. “They’re force beams. Whatever. You had to keep them on all the time, and I’d never seen your eyes before. You smell different too.” And now the kid looked really confused. “It’s a part of my mutation. And besides, I thought you were dead. We all did.”

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked again through gritted teeth, slowly this time, his voice edged with impatience.

“I wanted to be sure it was you. And then when I knew, I just…” Logan sighed with frustration. “Look, you and I didn’t have the best relationship before, okay? I thought you were this stuck up pretty boy snob with a hot girlfriend and a rich daddy and no personality, and you had everything I wanted and I didn’t think you deserved any of it.”

“Then why the hell would you sleep with me?” Scott asked. “Some kind of sick revenge? Did you enjoy finally shoving it up my ass and putting me in my place?”

“No!” Logan hastened to assure him. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” he snapped, patience running thin. The kid’s body was tense, jaw working hard, and Logan knew he only had a finite amount of time here before the kid walked away.

“What we had here,” Logan rushed out desperately, “we could have never had that before, and that was my fault. I made your life miserable, just because I could. I never got to know you, I just assumed what I saw was all there was. I didn’t know you were hiding this under all of...that.”

Which was stupid, he realized in hindsight, because he probably should have guessed there was a reason why a firecracker like Jeannie had fallen for a stick-in-the-mud like Scott Summers. Why Storm had always regarded the kid with a quiet kind of possessiveness in her eyes that Logan had always assumed was lust for a pretty boy that was already spoken for (like all the other teenaged girls at that school that fawned over him), but perhaps she had only been trying to watch over him, watch out for him, like a sister would her beloved brother. Why Hank so fiercely roared up behind Scott during missions, baring his fangs and brandishing his claws, out of control in a way the doctor never would consider for fear of losing his humanity, sacrificing his pride to intimidate the enemy and protect his fearless leader, his friend. Why Xavier had left literally _everything_ to this kid, including his last name, when he had hundreds of other children in his care to choose from, but Scott was special.

It wasn’t that the people in Scott’s life had been repressing this version of him. _Logan_ had been the one repressing it, by being an absolute dick to the guy whenever he had the chance. Maybe Logan should have caught on to that a little bit sooner.

“Scott,” he continued, broken and humiliated and such an idiot, “I knew the minute I brought you home, all of this would be over. So I kept my mouth shut. I don’t know what I thought would happen. I wasn’t thinking at all. It’s not an excuse. It was selfish and stupid, and I’m sorry.”

Scott nodded, jaw still tense but relaxing infinitesimally. “Can you help me get my memories back?”

“Yes,” he quickly replied, relief washing over him. “We can help you. Well, we can try. If there’s a way to get your memories back, we’ll find it.”

The kid paused for just a fraction of a second, blinking hard, wet eyes glittering in the morning sun, bright and pretty and full of fear and hope. “I’d really like to go home.”

“I’d really like to take you there.” Logan smiled, soft and sure, the ache in his chest easing just enough. Just enough. “We should stop by your apartment first.”

“I brought some stuff,” Scott stated, nudging the backpack on the sidewalk with the toe of his boot. “Enough for a few days.” He raised his chin defiantly, indignant in a way that was both cute and hot at the same time, and it took all of Logan’s willpower not to kiss him. “I’ll come back for the rest of it if I decide to stay.”

Logan cleared his throat, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah, but the lock on your front door is broken.”

The kid opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, then reconsidered and closed it again, displaying incredible restraint in swallowing the first two things he wanted to say and instead just sighing in resignation. Recovering quickly, he fixed the older man with a cool, blue level gaze, bristling visibly but biting it down, and that was when Logan saw Scott Summers for the first time in over six months, standing tall and stoic and calm, even though Logan was sure the kid was annoyed in a way only the Wolverine could achieve and wanted to punch him and lay him flat out on his ass.

“Fine,” Scott finally said crisply, grabbing his bag. “Hardware store’s this way.”

Logan indicated for Scott to precede him, and only after Scott had passed by, his back turned towards him, did Logan smile.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

He didn’t knock when he came to the door, just opened it enough to slink through a soft beam of light before softly closing it behind him. Lying on his side in the bed, facing away, Logan turned to glance over his shoulder, heightened eyes easily finding the tall figure standing at the edge of the other side of the bed in the dark.

“Don’t say anything,” Scott demanded quietly, fiercely. Logan complied, remaining still as the young man slid between the sheets and shifted close, hard body pressing close against Logan’s back. An arm slung around Logan’s waist, gripping tightly; Logan covered it with his own, his hand finding Scott’s, fingers locking together, legs intermingling.

Logan sighed with relief, releasing the deep breath he’d been holding since they’d returned to the mansion. The old mutant had been shuffled to the background as Scott reaclimated to his home, Storm and Hank accompanying the young man wherever he went as if he was a celebrity and they were a part of his entourage, flanking both sides with watchful eyes and postures tensed to fight like the most expensive of bodyguards, a slew of other metaphors that Logan couldn’t begin to string together. All he knew was that the kid was Off Limits to everyone and everything, including him.

He got it. Jean had been taken first, then Scott, then the Professor, and finally Jean again, each death more horrifying than the last. The core family of the original X-Men had been shattered irreparably, leaving just ’Ro and Hank to navigate this on their own like a ship lost at sea without a captain. And then, out of the deep blue, came salvation in the name of Scott Summers, their own personal messiah. Of course they weren’t going to let him out of their sight, where any harm could befall him. So Logan hung back, allowing them their space and ignoring the desperate glances Scott shot his way, looking to the only man he knew for some kind of guidance or comfort but the kid didn’t know any better. He was better off with ’Ro and Hank, not some guy that had no moral compass and had lied to him and taken advantage of him at the first opportunity.

Then Emma Frost had arrived, summoned to the mansion like Batman and arriving with as much fanfare. She might not have had a Batmobile, but she certainly had class, arriving in her white mercedes benz, waiting inside the vehicle until Bobby had opened the door for her before tossing him the keys and slipping a twenty dollar bill into his palm as if he were a valet. The kid was barely aware of his surroundings or the fact that he should probably have been offended, too focused on the beautiful blond bombshell in front of him.

“Ms. Munro. Dr. McCoy,” she’d greeted airily as she stepped right past them into the house, her eyes surveying the area until they spotted Scott standing off to the side, awkward and nervous and hot. “Scott.”

The young man cleared his throat, shifting his shoulders back in feigned confidence. “I understand you can help me.”

She smiled, slow and sly and sexy as hell. “I can do a lot more than that.”

“Ms. Frost,” Hank interrupted tactfully, taking her by the elbow. “We appreciate your assistance in our endeavors…”

Although she allowed herself to be led away, her eyes lingered on the long, lean frame of Scott Summers. Logan growled low in the back of his throat from his corner of the room, Emma’s eyes meeting his knowingly as she passed, sparkling with amusement. He felt a soft, receding pull on his mind, like a gentle wave washing back out to sea, and felt a new rush of anger as he realized he’d been unknowingly mentally ransacked. Then he was just downright embarrassed because he was sure she must have seen not only all of his most vivid sexual images about the Boy Scout, real and imagined, but there was a lot of mushy stuff in there too, stuff about possibly wanting cuddles after those fantasies played out, and that morning sex was great, just rolling over already ready and sticking it in, but mostly he just wanted someone to wake up to instead of constantly starting his days alone, and most of all he wanted that person to be Scott.

Later that evening, Emma had sat in an overstuffed chair in front of the roaring fireplace of Xavier’s old office, Scott sitting across from her on the loveseat with ’Ro and Hank standing at the ready behind the White Queen, Logan scowling from beside the doorway with his arms crossed. With long, elegant fingers, she pinched the stem of the glass of champagne she’d had her newly acquired personal servant Bobby dutifully fetch for her and lifted it to her lips, taking a neat sip.

“As much as I enjoy this vulnerable, naive version of you,” she murmured coolly, placing the champagne flute back onto the end table beside her, “there is something to be said for the commanding air of  man in charge.”

“Get on with it, Frost,” Logan muttered from the windowsill.

She paused in tossing her hair over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Logan before turning back to Scott. “Very well. You may want to lie down.”

Hesitantly, Scott laid back on the sofa, his fingers clutching nervously at his jeans, the cushions, the hem of his shirt. Emma leaned forward, so close to Scott’s ear her lips grazed his skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered wretchedly, too quietly for anyone but Logan and perhaps Hank to hear it, and then she pressed her forehead to his, one hand against his cheek, her eyes slipping closed.

The reflection of the fire was dancing in Scott’s clear blue eyes, illuminating first wariness before his gaze cast off in the distance, searching, focused on something only he could see. His breathing quickened, heart pounding, fear scent spiking, twisting, building, until it crescendoed and crashed like a hard wave against the rocky shores of a beach. Scott clutched at Emma’s arm, mouth agape in a silent scream, hot tears spilling down delicate cheekbones.

Emma leaned back, slipping her hand from his cheek as she did so. Scott caught it in his, giving her pause, and for the first time since meeting her, Logan saw humanity in her, the sorrow and compassion before she turned her head away.

Scott sat up and looked to Storm and Henry next, expression silently begging them to tell him the reality he’d woken up to wasn’t real, but they only shook their heads in regret. ’Ro clenched her jaw hard, blinking away the mist in her eyes unsuccessfully, a small hitch escaping her throat before Hank placed a large, furred hand on her shoulder, his own golden eyes glittering sadly.

Finally, he looked at Logan, yearning and hopeless and wounded, but the old man had no words for him, no comforting gestures. He just cast his eyes to the floor, unable to move past the guilt of knowing he’d only contributed to Scott’s pain by first killing his girlfriend and then by pegging the kid after Scott’s memories had been knocked out of his head.

The young man stumbled mutely from the room, ’Ro and Hank quickly moving to follow when Emma stepped between them and the door.

“Don’t,” she warned, the weariness in her voice betraying her aloof demeanor. “He just lost his wife and his father. Give him time.”

That had been five days ago. Five days of Scott avoiding everyone in kingdom come, holed up in the room that he’d once shared with Jean, the hallway stinking of sadness every time Logan passed by. So many times he’d lingered in front of the door, hand raised to knock, knowing he had no right to wallow in his own self-pity when Scott was suffering so profoundly, owing it to the guy to do _something_ after fucking up so monumentally in Fox City, but Logan could only assume he was the very last person Scott would want to see right now after everything Logan had done.

A few times, Logan had picked up Scott’s scent outside Logan’s own door, mostly at night, the old mutant longing to run out there and do what, he wasn’t sure. Pull the kid into his arms, tell him everything was going to be okay, provoke him until Scott told Logan exactly where to go, until Scott beat the shit out of him -- anything -- whatever it would take to alleviate even the smallest amount of Scott’s misery.

Tonight had been one of those nights, every fibre in Logan’s being yearning to move but forcing himself to remain in bed. The scent lingered longer than usual, that sharp and clean smell no longer so new, dulled at the edges and maybe a little frayed. Never could Logan have imagined that Scott would dare to enter Logan’s room on his own accord and wrap himself around the older man, his body relaxing behind Logan’s as if the kid had been tense holding his breath in anticipation for something to happen, only able release a sigh when it turned out to be something good.

Rough beard stubble brushed against the back of Logan’s neck, warm breath puffing over his skin. They laid in silence in the dark for a long time, Logan focusing on the rise and fall of Scott’s chest against his back, the heartbeat resounding reassuringly through the thin cotton of Scott’s shirt.

“Did she kill him?” Scott asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Jean? Did she kill Charles?”

“Yes,” Logan responded softly.

Scott breathed in carefully. “Did he suffer?”

Logan remembered the chaos as that house had been turned upside down, nearly literally as they shifted through gravity. He remembered fighting his way into that room, forcing the door open and seeing Charles through eyes wide with terror just before the old man had disintegrated into dust. He remembered the soothing tone in which Charles had spoken to him. His eyes had been sparkling. He’d been smiling.

“No,” he said quietly, blinking away the sting in his eyes.

“How did she die?”

Logan swallowed hard, bracing himself. “I killed her.”

Scott’s breath hitched in his throat, arm tightening around Logan’s waist, fingers gripping his hard. When the young man spoke again, his voice was a fierce whisper. “Did she suffer?”

“No.”

Bracing himself for fury and disappointment and rejection, Logan never would have expected what came next: “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

He pulled the lamp chain roughly on the bedside table, illuminating the room in a soft glow before turning swiftly, carefully studying Scott’s face in the dark, unprepared to find blue eyes full of empathy and concern. He gently cupped Scott’s cheek, wiping away tear tracks with his thumb before slipping his hand to the back of the young man’s neck, gripping firmly, warm skin beneath his palm.

“I don’t understand,” Logan said, voice almost pleading. Scott braceleted Logan’s wrist with strong fingers.

“You loved her too,” he murmured, face crumpling as fresh tears escaped his eyes. He brushed them away on the pillow, regaining his composure quickly. “I know you didn’t want to do that. I know you wouldn’t have if there was any other way.”

“There wasn’t another way,” Logan insisted, voice strained with emotion.

“I know,” Scott assured him, and Logan didn’t realize he’d needed absolution until right this very moment, and when Scott leaned forward and brushed his lips across Logan’s very, very sweetly, Logan knew mercy for the first time in a long time, but more than that, he knew hope.

He pulled the stupid kid into a hug, the same kid that had somehow made his way past Logan’s defenses as surreptitiously as Marie had, crawling under his skin and worming his way into his heart, burrowing there until there was no way to tell where Scott ended and Logan began. Having already suffered the loss of Scott once, he didn’t think he could do it again, not after this. Not after everything.

Protectively, he drew his arms tighter around the young man. “You’d better not disappear on us again, kid. No more running off without telling anyone where you’re going, and especially without a chaperone.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he admitted, snuggling into Logan’s shoulder, caressing fingers running through his chest hair and blinking eyelashes fluttering over his skin. “Jean wouldn’t let me.”

Logan leaned back to look at him. “She was talking to you?”

“Yeah. In my head. She kept calling out to me. She needed my blasts to get her out of the water,” he told him, then paused. Logan felt the drops of tears hitting his chest. “I saw her, Logan. She was alive.”

“I know,” he soothed, his fingers slipping under Scott’s shirt to trace up and down his back, smooth, warm skin beneath his touch.

“Why would she do this to me?” he asked, voice full of anguish. “Why would she take away my memories? I could have helped her. Maybe the Professor -- maybe I could have -- ”

“Maybe she knew,” Logan interrupted gently. “Scott, Jean wasn’t herself. Sometimes she was, but mostly she was...whatever came out of that water. Maybe she knew you’d do anything to try to save her, and that she couldn’t be saved. Maybe Jean was doing what she had to do to keep you safe from that other part of her.”

“She fixed my eyes.”

“What?” Logan blurted. “You’re not a mutant anymore?”

“No, I’m still a mutant,” he told him. “That’s how you found me with Cerebro, remember? I can turn it on and off now.” He gave a watery laugh. “I just haven’t figured out how yet. Can’t wait ‘til I do. I’ve got a killer headache you wouldn’t believe.”

“We’ll figure it out. It’s got to be like how my claws come out. They just do when you want them to.” He thought for a moment, then said again, “We’ll figure it out.”

“We, huh?” he asked, turning his head. His lips brushed over Logan’s shoulder as he spoke, dry and soft against his skin. “I guess that means you’re not going anywhere either?”

“No, I guess not,” Logan conceded. It was quiet again, just the sounds of their breathing, Scott’s mouth still against his shoulder and long, lean body pressed against his side. The kid’s fingers were continuing to run idly through his chest hair, occasionally brushing over one of his nipples, up and down his abdomen, and Logan’s body was definitely taking interest. It didn’t help that he remembered what those hands felt like touching him with strong, deliberate strokes, seeking and finding all of his sweet spots. And that mouth against his shoulder, what it felt like on his neck, against his jaw, nipping playfully at his skin; what his tongue felt like, as it licked a hot stripe up his shaft before those perfect lips wrapped themselves around his --

“Seriously, Logan?” Scott asked, and Logan followed his gaze to the obvious tent in the bed sheets.

“Sorry,” the older man grunted in response, shifting uncomfortably. “Wasn’t assuming anything, just...can’t help it. I don’t know if you looked in the mirror since you got all your memories back, but you’re still gorgeous.”

“It’s not like I forgot Fox City,” Scott reminded him patiently. “I just remembered everything before that.”

“I’m sorry again, for what I did in Fox City, if that means anything.”

“Wasn’t all bad,” Scott assured him in a teasing tone, a smile in his voice. “You’re kind of fun to be around when you aren’t too busy being a dick.”

“You’re kind of fun to be around when you forget how much of a dick I am.”

“I really don’t think you’re a dick, Logan,” he said softly after a pause, and punctuated the sentiment with a kiss on his shoulder. “In fact, I kind of like you.”

Logan pulled him in closer, brushing his lips across Scott’s brow. “I kind of like you too.”

“I’m still not having sex with you tonight. You’ll have to earn that.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Logan asked.

Scott shrugged. “You said you’re not going anywhere, right? You’ve got time to figure it out.”

As Scott settled back against Logan’s side, in the quiet of the night and the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Logan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, finding his own scent and Scott’s intermingling with the satisfied glow of their moods. Bright and happy, like the sunrise over a snowy hillside in the mountains; fresh like the pines; comforting, like being wrapped up in an old blanket in an armchair in front of a roaring fireplace, or being held in the arms of a lover.

“Time, eh?” Logan murmured, then smiled. With his mutation, he had all the time in the world.

* * *

Floors below, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her pajamas as she sat in front of Cerebro’s exposed control panel, tablet in her lap and flashlight clutched between her teeth, Kitty paused in replacing an outdated data cable. She sat back as the soft, fine hairs rose on the back of her neck, holding her breath as she turned her head to listen, but only the silence of the large, round room met her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make him out, the dark shadow sitting at the end of the catwalk. If she turned around quickly, she might be able to catch him this time. Or he might disappear, as he had all the other times.

She turned back to the control panel instead, a part of her not wanting to know. A comforting warmth engulfed her, the arms of gratitude and relief wrapping themselves around her. As suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, blinking back the stinging in her eyes. She smiled as the soft whir of an electric motor faded in the distance.

* * *

End. Please leave me some reviews and let me know what you think!  I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)


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